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Ghazal 1051
The Tent
Outside, the freezing desert night.
This other night inside grows warm, kindling.
Let the landscape be covered with a thorny crust.
We have a soft garden in here.
The continents blasted,
cities and little 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 that there's no news at all.
The Essential Rumi
Version by Coleman Barks
Harper, San Francisco, 1995
It was night, but (only) to strangers;
my night is (kept) day from the face of the beloved.
Even if the world is completely filled with thorns,
we are (kept) drowned in roses from the beloved.
Even if the world becomes ruined and (then) built up,
the (mystic's) heart is (kept) "drunk" and the ruin* of the beloved.
Since the news is all sadness and weariness,
the absence of news (is) the source of (real) news!
Translation by Ibrahim Gamard
*drunkards went to ruins to get “ruined.”
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