Inger Zivana M. Torvund

Inger Zivana M. Torvund

Inger Zivana M. Torvund

Inger Zivana M. Torvund

You sing and
you take
everything,
but what did you
bring me, when you
put to rest your fire
in their
everglowing
shade, I am
still aware that
your body
is not
like mine, mine
floats
and shiver like
a gray pearl
tossed too far,
devoured
by the misty
garden so
that nobody
touch it, so that
whales carry its
secret on their
back, ancient
and hollow,
it is no longer
a gift, though
you open
it like one, I
don’t pretend
to be
anything and
neither do
you, still the way

you take the heart
and drag it out
into the forest,
mindless
that your hands
are tired like
hares hiding
in the frosty air,
pockets
of sadness
lie swollen in
your eyes when
you see your
own way
of touching
the earth, of
pushing the
heart
that you carry,
so
violently

it moves
in the air
like a drugged
insect,
finally open, finally
scared, but
I fall like a flower
through air
so thick, it
puts me
asleep, it
tears at
the petals, run!
it yells, no matter
how much
you see me,
no matter what
mountains you give
me to sit on top,
I am not
wiser
there though
I laugh

I have become
the lonely
brooding darkness
of people
that disappear, I
tell you
nothing, your
heart, how
it screams and
runs across
the railtracks
is beauty
to me, though
I no longer stand
beside
to watch
the fire
flickr away, oh
run and ran over,
I have
become the
lonely
silent patient
waiting for
a petal as fragile
as his own

Inger Zivana M. Torvund

Inger Zivana M. Torvund

Inger Zivana M. Torvund

Inger Zivana M. Torvund

Inger Zivana M. Torvund

Inger Zivana M. Torvund

Inger Zivana M. Torvund

I pulled my head
off as if it was
a banquet
where tigers
feast, one
tiger gapes
like you, runs like
you, I take him by
the tale,
god, I do, I
do miss
you!

And then
this pain, it
comes from the
door you
open, slowly
gazing
at the fireflies
hiding in my
hair, you

make a gun
out of the
coal you found
in the very same
river they
all had
bathed in,

Your head,
you scream at
me, is one that will
open at my call,
you shoot
at small,
small
flowers,
they make a
river of
nightgowns
and I step down
to take, you
you,
you, you,
you,

how this
love is
impossible,
but burning,
burning,
forever
like a
banquet of
daisies that
fall like
tears

in our
make-believe
wedding

Inger Zivana M. Torvund

A two pages comic that will be in the next Kovra, a spanish comics anthology. You can see previews and pre order here:
cargocollective.com/edicionesvalientes/KOVRA-5-Pre-order