Knafeh Nabulsiyeh- Maysa Amer ’14

My feet glide across the aged stone


Weaving in and out of narrow alleyways

The buildings worn and tired

Stones creak

Beneath my weight, they whisper to me their rich history

Stretching back hundreds of years


Awlad Falasteen, the children of Palestine


all around, they rush towards a sweet aroma


“la wein ya awlad?” where are you going my children?

A grin

Appears upon the street vendor’s olive toned skin

Aged like the stone


My nose follows the sweet aroma

Indigenous; the aroma

Native; the aroma

Aboriginal; the aroma

For it is Palestine in its purest form


My mouth waters

I lay my eyes upon the final masterpiece


upon layers

Thick cheese

Pistachio walnut


Like the bones of resistance

The recipe passed down

Through word

By hand

This recipe known appreciated

Soaked in ahtr

Sugar turned syrup

Orange blossom water

Let it cool

Knafeh Nabulsiyeh