Well, I like to call it a poem, even though it doesn’t rhyme. It has a rhythm to it. You might start to see a theme with my poetry – I like to write about inanimate objects! I wrote this a long time ago, and it’s definitely written from years of experience and use of this object.
The Silent Language of Umbrellas
Umbrella, you stand with me under the rainstorm so I won’t get wet! You let me huddle under your awning, spending moments of unpunctured time observing other people’s feet protuberances.
Umbrella, you show me another’s rainy day personality – dark ones that are brisk and business like, unaffected yet morose, and bright ones that rebel against the rain-washedness, hiding serene or bubbly interiors.
Umbrella, you can really bring out the good side in people. You can be lent to others, your canvas protection can be shared, you can sympathize with the unlucky people whose umbrellas have inverted.
Umbrella, you can make the world as private as my own room, one can share intimate lovers’ conversations in your embrace, your swooping flanks shielding sweet nothings from others’ ears.
Umbrella, you can initiate wars, where two bearers of such weaponry approach on a narrow street, jousting begins, and the sturdiest umbrella whiplashes the weaker one, it is safer to walk the streets with large umbrellas.
Umbrella, your life is quick but sympathetic and heroic.
Umbrella, what would I do without you?
Take me on a gusty ride – I know I won’t get wet!