My Message... My Son

My son Sarmad,

... Weeks ago
I lit six candles for you on your cake!
Do you know what I was thinking?
When I saw the dance of joy and delight in your eyes, and watched you stretch up
on the tips of your toes
to reach with your lips the six lighted candles and blow them out...
I was dreaming, at that moment, great dreams, too big for a mother's breast to hold... I said to myself: If only...
oh, if only the count of these candles were twenty-two candles—then this day of ours would have been a feast, and what a feast! Then
I myself would have stretched up
on the tips of my toes
to reach with my lips your high forehead
and press my kiss upon it
and whisper in your ear a message
I have long fashioned with the beats of my heart... word by word,
and written with my blood, letter by letter... If only... oh, if only, my son—this manhood that I await, while my heart clamors
with brimming hopes... If only your young manhood might rise tomorrow upon your country,
a breast filled with faith in your country,
a heart brimming with heroism in the cause of your country.
For your country I want you first, for your country has a claim upon you: the claim of the earth that brought you forth, the claim of the sky that
shaded you, and the claim of the history that made it a country for you.
It is the last claim, my son, and there is no claim on earth beyond it. Your country is your dignity and your honor,
and for the sake of this dignity and this honor, give to it, and do not be stinting toward it.
And there is nothing that cannot be given, my son. Give it of your youth, of your heart, of your mind... and at the last,
give it your blood... Your blood alone lifts its brow. It is the price you must pay...
And may this childhood of yours grow ever in the shade of right and of pride,
and God keep you, and keep the young men of your country...