What manifold things the night hides... Objects slumber within the bosom of darkness... One does not know whether they relish in being dressed up in the guise of invisibility... This appears normal, since marble houses are speechless. Sometimes their voices are heard in storms gushing from the freezing cold of the winter... Cold winds blow like whistles in narrow lanes when marble houses are involved in a dialogue with the passers-by all day long open their breasts to those living in the lane by hiding in the dark. They relate to them the tale of the houses in their warm breasts. The walls and the windows become articulate recounting the tales of the past; not failing to note the events of the day in their diary in the evening. Everyt-hing, when viewed from the outside becomes monotonous.... Only the lights are visible... Light is artificial, but it is a suitable match with the silhouette of Mardin. The fort looks with a rage from high above. Men have not forgotten to illuminate it. Men have illuminated it also. The lanes are solitary and the abbaras are jovial. The abbaras with their lights on become places for coming together. Passers-by turn their ears to the mumbling of people crouched by the walls. The night pervading the plain makes it invisible. Lights are on in the villages glittering like stars in the dark. Silence encompasses every niche and corner. The lanes are solitary. Houses have retracted their life and blood into their bos­oms. Life makes it abode on top of roofs. Those setting themselves comfortably on elevated platforms enjoy the comfort of the night gazing at the stars. Stars twinkle from on high. Those lying on the platforms enwrapped in white sheets, which make them invisible, swallow the coolness of hot summer days. Stars look from on high. Children slumber on elevated platforms.