Which I always recite,
In wakefulness and in dreams,
And prepare righteous generations.
How many times, in your warm embrace,
Have I built castles of imagination?!
How many times have I climbed your hands
To reach your forehead,
And imprint a kiss upon it,
So that I might return at least some of those kisses,
That you showered upon me?
I have grown up,
And my love for you has grown with me,
For you yourself are love, prayer, and holiness.
Did not one of the philosophers say:
The world is a mother?
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