Lament of monk Porfyrios
Bell of Hagia Sophia
Bit by bit may thou break the silence
And once more may the new ages sound the Resurrection
May an azure glory sprout
Upon the lamentation of the ruins
From this glory of thine that will come
From this flash of the lightning bolt
was I born
That is why my voice, too,
Is a loosened bell
That still weeps.
I raised my tearful eyes to see in all its glory the Hagia Sophia, this miracle of the centuries, which guarded the soul of the genus like a womb, covered it under its domes, so that sacrilegious time would not touch it. And I say, perhaps, even now that the blood of the faithful has soaked its stone and enamels, now that their blood has soaked Time and the coming of other Side the invisible one, I say, it is and will remain forever The Sacred Symbol, our oath, the fragrance of Roses burning in the century.
This post was made on Thursday, July 9, 2020, just hours before the signing of the conversion of Hagia Sophia into a mosque.
In the photo, my hand on the spot where, according to legend, the horse of Muhammad hit with its hoove and, as if from the mourning the marble had softened, opened a hole.