We, the generation of '50
We, the generation of '50,
Time-travelers with stardust in our hair, with memories planted in pockets,
Rooted in decades embraced by change, souls adorned with the dawn of the post-war world.
We spun on the carousel of the '50s, enveloped in the unrestrained laughter of childhood,
The '50s-'60s found us weaving red carnations into crowns for the dolls of our youth.
We sipped our morning coffee in the '60s-'70s, slowly drinking from the cup of scholarly knowledge,
We embraced adolescence with the fervor of the '70s-'80s, with industrious hearts proclaiming: "First love never dies!"
In the warm life dance of the '70s-'80s-'90s, we made vows beneath the veil of a world bubbling with life,
And we circled the globe with curious steps, discovering its splendor, as if a Renaissance painting unfolding under time's brush.
Through the adventures of the '80s-'90s, we fell in love with the world, with freedom, with chests open to the unease and possibilities.
We laid our foundations on solid grounds in the new millennia, lit our torches of wisdom in the second decade of this millennium,
Now, fulfilled and smiling at younger gazes, we step toward the unclear horizons of the 2030s,
Bearing sacks woven from the memories of centuries that kneaded our dowry.
We watched the operator's telephone eclipsed by the songs of virtual worlds, where every word is a ship without anchor,
How the cinema was swallowed and transformed into a carousel of images that spin in our palm,
In the grand transformation, from vinyl to music played in the ether, to letters that now fly on digital wings.
We played through sequences, from the first computers to the miracle of artworks that fit in our hand, divided between reality and dream.
We lifted the boots of childhood, traded them for travel shoes, with laces braided from adventures and discoveries.
We jumped over obstacles, like over paralyses and pandemics, with a grace that surprised even ourselves.
Our steps carried us from skates to automobiles, from the mirage of gasoline to the promise of electric silence,
And yet, let's admit, how splendid were those races, under wind-swept flags and rays of a long-set sun.
They will call us "essential," we were the youth of the analog world, then hopped on the electric train of the digital era,
We learned the language of change, the alphabet of restlessness, befriended metamorphosis, an endless hostess.
In this ode of remembrance, we clap our interwoven hands, celebrating a tribe that will forever blossom in the memory of the earth.
Time waits not, becomes ink drying too quickly, and personal histories are written with the fleeting quill of seconds.
We turn our gazes and days fall like fruits from the calendar, November ends before July begins,
We embraced centuries that extinguish and years evaporate like yesterday's perfume, while friends turn into guardian angels, and memories–into stories for grandchildren.
We learned too late that "after" is a mirage that delays its arrival, that every delay is a page torn from our own book,
No, we will not wait for "after" because smiles fade, "after" childhood does not return and neither will the cherubs of youth wait at the gate.
"After" holds only an echo of longing, so we, sculptors of the moment, will create now–today, now, because now is our only truth,
And if fate is a verse whose end we know only when we get there, let's write it with ink of stars, with the fragrance of moments lived now at full intensity.
We are, undoubtedly, brothers with time, perched on the shoulder of the passing second,
Constantly learning to dance with the shadows of days until the only shadow will be that of a memory full of charm and warmth.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
|