Honored ladies,

I seize this happy occasion to say to you, with admiration, how you have carried on the direction and editing of this free, refined national magazine, and to thank you for your kindness in favoring me with its issues...

And then, I know of none with a better right than "The Woman's Voice" to my poem "A Mother's Embrace," which has been translated into several languages. May it find with you the kind reception I hope for, and may you make room for it in the coming Christmas issue, God willing. Peace be upon you, my ladies, and the mercy of God.

Sanbul, October 1, 1947

From your brother: Rashid Salim Fawri

The narrators relate that, shortly before Jesus, he squandered his life in the pursuit of sins, so that he was nearly cast into the blaze as

his recompense;

but his devotion to his father and mother covered —

and God rewarded him with a servant's reward,

and he slept in Abraham's bosom — and yet

he rose to his Lord, complaining and weeping;

so He calmed his fright and bent over him in tenderness,

and pillowed him upon His hands and His knees,

and said to His servant David: Sing!

So he slept in His fatherly embrace a while,

until the people of Eternity cried out in vexation:

"Am I to endure the grumbling of a wicked servant

who on earth complained of wrongs where none had wronged him?

I see the poets have passed all bounds; truly I —

Why do you weep, O man, and what —

Is it My pardoning you that has set you weeping, or what —

He cried: Pardon, my Lord! Whom have I —

I came to You hoping to be moved to an embrace —

an embrace in which so often there sang —

Have You never laid Your head upon a breast —

So spare me the bliss of Eternity; truly I —

She would pat me, gently, as her way was —

***

Do You remember what the God of Moses was —

Then see how He has become tender —

a harsh god, taking delight in blood?

for her — when we suffered, He suffered.

***

An inspired poet died in the East —

holding lawful what God's writ made forbidden —

for the evil deeds he had sent before him —

his misdeeds — and so was delivered from Gehenna —

pious of stock, learned in the books —

a little before dawn our poet grew restless —

the weeping of a boy of Paradise is a funeral —

and soothed his heart with His abounding tenderness —

and bent over him with kisses and embraces —

for this weeping nightingale — and so he sang —

and once more let his tears fall, red as 'andam —

And God cried out in anger: How long!

he is given Kawthar to drink and calls it bitter aloes —

even in bliss he complains against Me!

I could almost repent of having created the poets —

has befallen you, that you never leave off complaining? Speak!

Were you repaid for it with kindness, or —?!

any but You — and who but the All-Merciful shows mercy?

dearer to me than my own self, and nobler —

content of eye, between the clasp and the kiss —

a tender one, beating with a mother's love?

my bliss lies between that breast and that mouth —

and she sings: there, my darling, softly — there!

***

Then the Lord of all the worlds bowed His head

and said within Himself: This is impossible —

does a sinner on the earth enjoy, before Me —

I shall uncover this secret one day —

at the complaint of the poet of the dusty earth, and was troubled:

can a poet know what I do not know?

what I myself do not enjoy in Paradise?

though it cost Me to suffer and to go without.

***

And there came a night — and behold: a boy,

a little one, asleep in Mary's embrace!!