Ayasofya. Such a beautiful name, for such an exquisite house of worship.
It was a place of worship for the Christians for over 900 years.
Then, starting from 1453, when Ayasofya was converted into a mosque, faithful Muslims prayed, performed the ruku' and sujud, worshiping The Creator.
For a blessed 500 years Ayasofya must have been smiling with joy.
But that day, as I walked slowly inside Ayasofya, it felt cold.
There's a feeling of deep sadness.
No more worshipers here.
They came with their cameras flashing amidst the voices of tour guides explaining passionately the history of beloved Ayasofya.
They walked upon the floor with shoes on.
Ayasofya lost it's sacred privilege. Lost it's soul.
Could Ayasofya be grieving now?
The house of worship is now a house of display and some parts of the beautiful walls were obviously withered by time. (Some restoration works were in progress).
Suddenly, tears welled up in my eyes. How I wish I could find a quiet place, away from the sight of the visitors and cry together with Ayasofya.