The aroma awakens the senses
As Dad cooks the foul beans
Fresh peeled and diced garlic are scattered
As a lemon is squeezed into the bowl
Parsley is used to garnish
As virgin olive oil is poured
My mouth salivates
As my mother's freshly baked bread comes out of the oven
Hot tea is boiling
As we gather around the kitchen table
My thoughts are of those wonderful mornings
As I wonder why my foul doesn’t taste the same
I long for those days in Ramallah
As I remember the camaraderie of our neighbors
I long for plucking fresh succulent figs
As I remember our farm filled with fruits
I long for the day where I can return
As I wonder if peace will fill the air
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