A Mother's Heroism

The immortal poet Khalil recounted this anecdote upon his return from Paris during the last war, and he saw in it a good example for our Eastern mothers.

A mother went to bid him farewell with kisses on the lips, seeing her son off with a smile;
No — she did not weep in weakness at his parting, but bore up proudly and did not even speak.
She had vowed him as an offering, that he should march to battle — this, whether he come back safe or come back not.
In her hand a sword whose edge was long used to severing heads — and how often steeped in blood!
It is the sword of his father, who fought well in the wars, and his sword was never notched nor beaten.
She gave it to him and said: my valiant son, take this and go forth like a lion!
Avenge your beloved homeland and do not fear; be your father's like. Thus did she charge him.
...And the train moved off... and her heart was torn to pieces.
Her strength failed her; she shrank into a seat, and her nerves came down in ruin.
A poet came over to her, moved by what he had seen, with understanding and with pain;
He spoke to her, saying — do not despair — and she braced herself with pride and did not give in,
And went on repeating — I did not weep, nor was I afraid — so forgive my soul a moment's weakness, and keep it hidden...

Such heroism — I have never known its like; my verse repeats it and sings it within me!!

From The Green Hut — Zahle — Lebanon