title. Umbrellas in Timisoara

name. Hunor Deak

Umbrellas in Timisoara

Twirl and Twist in the wind the Umbrella goes,

Life of it, is mysterious yet hits you right on the nose,

Hanging high above the streets of Transylvania,

Battered by rains brought over from the Sahara.


Colours of great range rock in the gentle wind,
A great pattern that twirls together in a link,
The shades are many like neon-green and citrus-yellow,

The beer gardens underneath keep men merry and mellow.


Crowds stream underneath towards the Old Cathedral,

Stroll away from the squares built by the Habsburg Eagle,

Stepping over the mosques long time past,
Under the tricolour which hangs high and proud on the mast.


The umbrellas shoulder the bright blue sky,
As the sun glares on the old shutters, the shadows run high,

Apparitions of the past dance in the blaze of summer heat,

As ghosts of immemorial come alive on the streets.


Strange figures take confused glances at the umbrellas so high,

Dark silhouettes, memories of the lost, pass by,
From the Hammer and Sickle to the half-moon of Ottoman might,

A Roman soldier’s shield glances in the ray of light.


Boots of black leather march... Eagle of Gold swoops in the distance, Protestors carry a shattered flag, rush down the street in an instance.

Tanks of the Iron Cross roll down with a great creak, growing, hulking dark beasts on deafening screaming tracks...

A quick realisation! Time to scramble! it is the clinking of the trams!


Being snapped back in the reality of the now,

These strange acolytes quiet down,

Washing down the past with the beer of Ciuc,

The umbrellas of the rainbow get another look.


An old bookshop sits beneath this bridge of colour,
Tall and majestic, beckoning with the knowledge it has to offer,
In the twilight of the store is easy to catch some returning melancholy,

As the diminishing light dances through the books of the history of agony.


Fierce knocking begins on the windows,
As rain pours down, as plenty as tears of widows.

The drops seep through clothes, one by one, As the streets quiet down, all the people gone.


Yet light still breaks through the columns of water,

As one rainbow lines up with the other,
The water is warm, cleansing the dirt,
One can sense the sweet smell of the earth.


The umbrellas dance above in the pouring rain,
As something Holy ablutes the world of pain,
The troubled dust of history doesn’t matter soon,
As the day washes away into the happy twilight of the afternoon.