Meditation on lines by Rumi
Cities, towns and everything between
scorched and blackened, devastated -
the only news is future full of grief -
while inside me there is no news at all
just in-fancy.
Flies love shit and corpses,
drown in milk.
Life is shit.
We are conceited flies
breeding in blood.
Milk is mystery.
The less I do
the happier I am.
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