QUEST

     I crossed the Hellespont, on a stormy winter night, over Helle’s deep watery grave, like Leander, willing to be drowned, in search of my Hero’s light. I ventured into the troubled Marmara Sea, where the tempest could set me back, and standing on Byzántion's seven hills, I asked the Haliç and the Boğaz: "Where is the road that leads to her heart?  I stood on the shrine courtyard, I knelt in front of the minarets, I prayed to the indifferent sky: "Take me to the gate to access her heart". I wound down narrow alleyways, I walked over ancient stones, I inquired to the wise voices: "Where is the key to open her heart?" But the tortuous road was long, and the impenetrable gate was obscure, and when I persistently implored, the master key was denied. And now I must turn back. But the road seems longer, greater the despair, and heavier the sadness.

© Text and photograph, William Almonte Jiménez, 2011