the tent

 

 

 

Outside, the freezing desert night.

This other night grows warm, kindling.

Let the landscape be covered with thorny crust.

We have a soft garden here.

 

 

The continents blasted, cities and little towns,

everything become a scorched blacked ball.

The news we hear is full of grief for that future,

but the real news inside here is 

there is no news at all.

 

 

 

~ Rumi