Asude

The cold and ashes in this air seem to be arguing about who is stronger. The world around froze between prayer and weariness - as if they had waited a thousand years for a saviour, and only the wind came. Everything here is a little older than memory, and a little sadder than you'd like. The soft Turkish language turns into a spell - slowly, as if through ice. There's a feeling of strange peace in these lines: when you're no longer fighting against anything, but you're also not giving up. You just keep going, even if the day is fading towards sunset anyway.