At The Exhibition Of Umbrellas - Poem by Vida Nenadic
Taken by my own thoughts,
my words and hopes,
pressed by tones of illusions and pain,
I often feel the floods in my eyes.
Then, I wish for the rain.
Persistently trying everywhere
to smell the sun,
always when it rains in London
I go without the ticket for admission
to visit that umbrella exhibition.
Then I do not see the people.
I do not see their faces.
They vanish from the streets without traces.
I do not see anything except
half a million umbrellas.
I see only the yellow, the green
and all colorful umbrellas.
I see the most common ones which are black,
and usually left behind in bins and bags
because of their damaged wires.
I see the brightest red, shining under the rain,
like strawberries in their fields.
Above all I see clearly these which are blue
and while washed away,
they are like the sea waves and your eyes.
Comments about At The Exhibition Of Umbrellas by Vida Nenadic
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You