The Traveler Poem by Reva Kern

He is in the family room, gloomy
and between us,
dear brother,
as in a childhood dream
of a clear day
We seek to set out for a far-off country -

Today you already have silvery temples
grey locks of hair
on a narrow forehead
And muted unease in your eyes
revealing a soul
almost completely absent -

Leafless autumn treetops
of the withered old park -
The afternoon,
behind damp windows
putting on makeup in front of the mirror -

My brother's face is gently lit
Did growing anxiety
shade a declining afternoon?
The anxiety of a new life in new years?

Lamenting lost youth?
It was left far off - poor wolf -
dead -
The empty youth
never lived fearing
who is to sing before his door?

Does he smile at the golden sun
in the land of his dreams
that he has not seen
and see his ship split
on the sonorous sea
from the wind
and the white sail swell?

He has seen the autumn leaves
yellow, spinning,
fragrant branches of eucalyptus-
rosebushes that
again show their white roses -

And this pain
that he yearns for or distrusts,
the trembling of a repressed tear,
And the remains of virile hypocrisy
etched in the pale countenance -

Serious portrait on a bright wall
Still. We digress
In the sadness of the house
The ticking clock strikes -
We are all silent -

There are good people who live,
work, endure and dream -
And one day like many
they rest below ground