Illuminated shadows

Because we do not have all the answers.
What is the colour of happiness? How much
does love weigh? The void thus created.
Is that our live? Is that what we call existence?
When we are gathered around the village pump.
The smell of the wild broom. Menthol cigarettes.
How the moon the stories wrings from our lips.
Because we are craving. To be filled, get stuffed.
With anecdotes, jokes, incantations, myths.
That's why. Our eyes are shining so promising.
Our blood itches so nervous in our vessels.
It's party time. But we can't find any reason.
We only have this desire that jumps on our heads
like a sleep drunk cricket. It is therefore that
no one notices her anymore? Love. She saunters
around in the shadow of the workers' cottages.
Dressed in a too large army jacket, red cheeks.
While on the square the voices getting louder,
the bottles emptier, she whispers with her eyes.
Plays Monopoly with the brave street children,
prepares hot pea soup for the shy beggars.