If you ever change your mind
The silence was like ice before you dawned on me; that night you smiled: “We can remain together if you want”. And though more than thirty years together since have […]
Tag Archives: Quadrille
Fade in fall
The way in fall what leaves becomes your urge to stay. It briefly fireworks, in yellow, crimson, blood, before it fades. It’s like that postcard sent from Côte d’Azur, apologizing […]
Sighs of sand
Each day, a journey lacking purpose, still envied footsteps washed with wordless waves. The sea looks different when dressed in grey. Cajoled, the pine-tree sentinel clings boldly onto cliffs. Pilgrim, […]
Afterwards the dreams have changed
Afterwards – when only thorns remain when leaves have left and sap been sucked. With fingers pricked, you still recall, perfumed the summer rose of youth. Before the withered rot […]
Scapegoat
From somewhere, murmurations, secrets spilled as arson, from lips unsealed to ears synapsed decoded into half-lies. Spreading dread and raging through undergrowth, a backdraft pestilence of hate, turned conclusions, of […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 