The Feast I Shared by Rim (Morocco, 16)

I took my place beside the spread,

The couscous towered, golden, steaming,

A mountain that the women made,

With patience, care, and careful meaning.

Beneath the grains, the vegetables lay

Pumpkin, turnip, carrot, bean,

Each one absorbed the broth and sway

Of saffron, salt, and flavors seen.

The tagine arrived, a clay-made dome,

I lifted the lid the aroma burst,

The meat had softened, left its bone,

With olives, lemon, spice immersed.

Then came the bastilla, crisp and thin,

A pastry hiding meat and sweet,

With almonds crushed and cinnamon within,

A sugary crust, a savoury treat.

I tore the bread the way they do,

But mine was jagged, rough, and wrong,

The locals smiled I knew it's true,

I'd learn their rhythm before too long.

The tea was poured from up so high,

A golden arc, a foamy crown,

I sipped it slow, I didn't cry,

Though heat and mint went rushing down.

That meal was more than just a bite,

It held the land, the work, the care,

Each flavour whispered day and night

A culture rich beyond compare.

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About this Piece

This is a poem about Moroccan food, written from the perspective of a student who experienced a traditional meal. It describes the dishes, the flavors, and the learning process of someone new to the culture.

I was inspired by the rich food culture of Morocco the tagine, couscous, bastilla, and mint tea and how food brings people together. I wanted to capture the warmth, the colors, and the hospitality of a Moroccan table through simple but vivid language.

I want people to know that Moroccan food is not just about eating it's about sharing, tradition, and patience. Every dish takes time and care to prepare, and every meal is a way to welcome strangers and make them feel at home.

Credits

© 2026 Rim Elmakroum. All Rights Reserved.