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Outside, the freezing desert night.

This other night inside grows warm, kindling.

Let the landscape be covered with thorny crust.

We have a soft garden in here.

The continents blasted, cities, towns, everything

become a scorched, blackened ball.

The news we hear is full of grief

for that future,

but the real news inside here

is there's no news at all.

 

* * *

 

There is a desert

I long to be walking,

a wide emptiness,

 

peace beyond any

understanding of it.

 

- Rumi

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