Everything and nothing
He knows by heart of apex moments, battles and the cusps of past, not from life or death but from the pinnacles of books and voices only he have glimpsed. […]
Children of the night
“Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!” – Dracula Over moonlit graveyard there’s a moan from wind, where trees are limbs with claws to scratch, […]
Division deep inside
The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. Elie Wiesel We stand divided, not from borders fenced with razor-wires, but fissured deep inside, a river Styx that’s running wild […]
Scent of chalk and books
I remember benches, scent of chalk and books. We had teachers; I had dreams and pigtails. I remember when they first arrived. Two men with guns, and how they tried […]
In vain I stitched
On the fringe of dreams I gather syllables from scents to sieve and sew and patchwork into quilts and mittens… Awake too late, but harsh this morning light in vain […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 