Shadows

I look for love like shadows of an abandoned village

crave for the bodies to move

quiet, still, helpless, dependent on wind or sunlight

wind which sometimes make the tree leaves dance

so the shadows can rejoice moving umbra and penumbra   

or chase a freed kite which once got stuck to a pole.

Wind which sometimes blows a nest away from a drying river

in which a baby bird cries , flutters to quench his thirst

who dies to fly but out of desire in the end

in its own nest gives up his life like

 after a thousand turns my hope, for love, dies.