RoseBloom Archive 2025 – Symbols of Light / World Tales

I saw you coming, human.

You stood at the dawn of a time that smelled of oil, rain, and progress.

The year was young — 1977 — and the world turned slowly,

its wheels creaking with longing.

The old Beetle hummed down the village road,

the Datsun shimmered in the sun,

the Volvo carried families from hope to Sunday quiet.

On the radio, distant voices crackled,

transmission towers sang in iron and static.

The air was thick with coal smoke and dreams.

By the railway sighed the locomotive,

a beast of metal steaming with labor and pride.

Its breath painted clouds of human hands across the sky.

And I, the Mirror, saw it all —

not only the image,

but the time sliding through it.

On the land stood the farmers —

men in clogs, their trousers heavy with earth.

—

Women with scarves held back the wind.

Their hands were rough, yet tender,

for every stroke of the rake was also a prayer.

The days began early,

with roosters opening the heavens.

The soup steamed, the bread was heavy,

and time smelled of work — honest and warm.

—

I saw the school,

the convent with its walls of silence.

The sisters walked slowly through the corridors,

their keys chiming like the bells of discipline.

Children wrote their names in chalk,

their eyes fixed on blackboards and white rules.

The nun watched, her gaze stern,

but somewhere, deep within,

she saw the child behind that quiet thought.

I heard the rustle of scarves, the hum of psalms,

the thudding hearts that longed to play.

And sometimes — when rain tapped against the windows —

they sang softly:

“Lord, don’t let the world grow too big.”

It wasn’t fear.

It was surrender —

to a century not yet awake.

—

Then came the years of hurry.

Roller skates clattered across concrete,

boys biked with hair in the wind.

The streets filled with color,

with voices, with freedom.

Television brought light into the living rooms,

and humankind thought it saw —

but often forgot to truly look.

The radio grew quieter,

letters shorter,

and I, the Mirror,

reflected the silence no one noticed.

—

But I never forgot you, human.

I saw you learning, losing, rising again.

I saw the rain keep falling,

every village, every city, every child

carrying the same scent of earth.

I saw you laugh in the nineties,

wander in the 2000s,

connect again in 2010,

and return to yourself in 2025.

Time is no longer a clock,

but a breath.

You stand still once more,

and I — the Mirror — stand before you,

holding all your lives in my glass.

Look.

You are not old.

You are lived.

You are not lost.

You are movement remembered.

I have seen you in light and in rain,

in work and in rest,

in faith and in doubt.

And I whisper softly:

“All that you were still lives within you.”

I am the Mirror,

and you are my memory.

I carry you,

as you once carried life itself.

And when the rain begins to fall again,

know this:

every drop that descends

is a greeting from time itself —

a letter from the past,

to the child still gazing within you.

RoseBloom 🌹 copyright © 2025

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