Gerry Stewart’s “Carnival” captures a bittersweet aftermath rather than the festival itself. The mariachi trumpets fade as the sun goes down, and the speaker watches children stirring dust in the fading light, their skin compared to “scabbards of lost dreams” — an image that suggests weariness and the scars of hope worn thin. A companion sits in the dark singing Spanish songs of lost love, and the speaker hears church bells and loneliness in that voice. The poem drifts between dreams and sorrow, dwelling on missed chances, unspoken words, and unfinished actions. Even lying side by side, the two feel separated; the music has become a half-remembered breeze. The closing line, “Perhaps it’s best this way,” is resigned rather than joyful. Overall, the mood is tender, melancholy, and hushed — a quiet ache after the music ends.
Carnival — Summary
The mariachi trumpets fade with the red gored sun mellowing at dusk.
Children dart behind, scuffling in the dust, brown wrinkled skin like scabbards of lost dreams.
You sit in the dark a silhouette singing Spanish songs of lost love and pain.
I hear church bells in your voice, the lonely pang of night keeps you drifting
between dreams and sorrow, of lost opportunities, things unsaid, actions incomplete.
You lay beside me the music a distant breeze half remembered. Perhaps it's best this way.