In that miserable fight, I kept waiting for inspiration. The voice of the muezzin at four in the morning stirred in my chest a deep-seated pang that had been ringing for centuries, and it was much stronger than the church bells, there is no doubt about that. There is no such urgency in the ringing of bells. The bells may announce joy or sadness, but the muezzin is neither joyful nor sad. His voice comes from a place beyond sadness and joy. It is a lively, energetic sound; And the words that he sings, even if you do not understand them, are sharp like a knife, they pierce you to the core, especially when they break the silence of the solemn night and the muezzin begins to raise the prayer. The first verse always makes you shiver from the inside, because the sound seems to be coming from nowhere and at the same time, from everywhere. Place, it is truly the voice of God. Clear sound. When you listen to that voice at 4:30 in the morning, after a long, sleepless night, you think about what you have created with your own hands.
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