The vestiges of a gone modernity
Now leave room for erected ruins;
The window panes lay broken
In ancient places of evaporated lives.
The lights of the night blend with the thick smoke
Of the improvised braseros;
Here taming the heavy darkness
Of the tough nights of these weird neighborhoods.
The flames attract lost people,
Looking for familiar eyes and faces,
In their memory of stories of the past,
Over a glass so one can never forget.
The wind carries the smell of orange blossoms,
A moment of peace for tormented souls
Of a civilisation gone up in smoke,
That has returned to the wild.
I wanted to create a fragrance felt like a parenthesis in the midst of chaos. The simplicity of the orange blossom, mixed with the sacred smell of myrrh, brings a breath of fresh reassuring air.