Antakya

Once upon a time, all the streets knew voices, and even the wind in the narrow alleys sounded special - with an emphasis on warmth. Now only fragments remain: the smell of mint tea on the terrace, the reflection of the old stadium where “our team” always won, and the crackle of the speakers through which someone's “Habibi” flew. Everything seems to be the same - only there are fewer people, less laughter, and even the parsley at the market is tasteless.

The song is like an old photograph in which those who are no longer around are smiling. It is not just nostalgia, but a kind of quiet ritual of remembrance: to remember names, to say them aloud, to prevent them from disappearing. Between the lines is a city that has become pain and love that has become air. And yet it still sounds warm. As if someone walked barefoot through those streets again - not to bring back the past, but to say, “I remember.”