Last snowfall
In my dreams, I am in Kyiv.Between the air raid sirens, silence is unbearable, fluffy, like cotton wool. Sometimes the thunder of far-away mortar explosions and I imagine waiting, waiting […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Walking with the sun in my eyes
When morning’s broken, sun in eyesI walk with birdsong in my chestmourning for the sleep’s that lost to air raidsforcing children into basementswaiting for the blast to blow their futureinto […]
Getting warm
I rememberall the warmthI siphonedfrom your wordsfrom the passion,and the promisesof yours,maybe I believed or maybeI pretended thatyour writing wasn’t lies,but still, I may be warmfrom letter-lieswhile turning paperinto ash. […]
Poet’s passing
Fingers tracingmoon-words, seeing sensein star-song,in the nebulae, ink-spilled ontovellum, parchment, onto paper;and as silence settles,he listens for the voiceof a poet’s passinginto darknessmoving pages past his handsinto dreams, as he […]
Tangerine dream
The days we think that we are closein glowing tangerine of endswhen evening comes it’s time to dozethose days we think that we are closeto the point when our travel […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 