Open Daily: 10am - 10pm | Alley door pickup 10am - 7pm 3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
612-822-4611

  • Open Daily: 10am - 10pm
    Alley-side Pickup: 10am - 7pm

    3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
    612-822-4611

Open Daily: 10am - 10pm | Alley-side Pickup: 10am - 7pm
3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
612-822-4611
A Quixote Withou the Winmills: Poetic Prose

A Quixote Withou the Winmills: Poetic Prose

Tejada Yepes, Luis Fernando

Paperback

General Poetry

Currently unavailable to order

ISBN13: 9798868311673
Publisher: Independently Published
Published: Nov 20 2023
Pages: 166
Weight: 0.51
Height: 0.35 Width: 6.00 Depth: 9.00
Language: English
Beneath the blazing skies and enveloped in the dense cloak of smoke, I venture into the chaos of the storm, a wandering traveler amidst the ruins of the city I once called home. My being, infused with the scars that time and life have carved into my skin, carries the tragic weight of urban existence, a somber poem woven by the cruel fate we all must confront at some point.

But upon awakening in the fragile light of morning, between the reflections of security and the shadows of doubt, I am granted the opportunity to contemplate the intricacies of the soul. Why do we harbor deep traumas like stones buried in the earth within the sanctuary of our hearts? What strange and mysterious dance of the universe leads us to bear these invisible wounds, these marks of the past that blend with the present?

Let us invoke the gods, those who lie on the altars of our faith, yet let not their images carved in wood and marble deceive us! Do we not realize that, in an unfathomable enigma, they often turn their backs to our pleas, to our tears? Indifferent like motionless statues, they observe the withered flowers resting beside the iron door, the worn entrance that separates the outside world from our vulnerable interior.

Reality holds us with its sharp claws, and in my hands, I hold the fragments of my past like pieces of an endless puzzle. Despite challenges and disappointments, I dare not close the door of destiny, for I know that in some remote corner of my heart, hope still beats, patiently awaiting the right time.

Memories, oh, memories, are like threads of a lucid dream, woven in a slumber that's as real as the world around us. The lamp of consciousness shines in the darkness, but its light is fleeting, destined to extinguish in the collision of the tangible world and the world of dreams.

Faced with this panorama, I have understood that I must invent wings, forge my own freedom on the anvils of desire and determination. With courage and resolve, I shall rise without a predetermined course, defying the laws of gravity and expectations. My life is a novel in constant writing, a story that unfolds in every step, in every decision, in every moment held by the clock's invisible hands.

And thus, with the leaves of time dragged by my feet, I advance through the years like a pilgrim in search of a tranquil abode in the deepest corner of my being. Daydreaming, I allow my thoughts to take flight and unfold in unexplored directions. Who says reality and fiction cannot interweave, dance together in a hypnotic ballet?

I colonize worlds with eyes wide open, traverse avenues of imagination, exploring cities that shimmer in colors not yet named. Reality or fiction? The line that divides these two realms is as delicate as a morning mist, and in my journey, I have learned to dance upon that line, to draw my own map in the uncertain skies.

Thus, amidst fires and billows of smoke, amidst rubble and wonders, I have found my own path, a trail that winds among the stars and plunges into the abysses of the heart. I am an urban man, a tireless dreamer, a traveler of time and space. In every step, in every invented wing, I uncover the magic of existence and the eternal melody of hope.

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