Listen to the whispers

Outside: the freezing desert night.

Another night inside gets warmer, illuminating me.

Though the earth be covered with impenetrable thorns

In here there is a green and gentle meadow.

When the continents are devastated –

cities, towns and everything between

scorched and blackened –

the only news is future full of grief –

while inside me there is no news at all.

This is our intimacy,my beloved friend:

anywhere you put your foot,

feel me in the firmness under it.

How is it, soul-mate,

that I see your world and don’t see you?

Listen to the whispers inside poems,

follow their intimate suggestions

and never leave their premises.

~Mevlana Rumi


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