To provide the best experiences, we use technologies like cookies to store and/or access device information. Consenting to these technologies will allow us to process data such as browsing behavior or unique IDs on this site. Not consenting or withdrawing consent, may adversely affect certain features and functions.
The technical storage or access is strictly necessary for the legitimate purpose of enabling the use of a specific service explicitly requested by the subscriber or user, or for the sole purpose of carrying out the transmission of a communication over an electronic communications network.
The technical storage or access is necessary for the legitimate purpose of storing preferences that are not requested by the subscriber or user.
The technical storage or access that is used exclusively for statistical purposes.
The technical storage or access that is used exclusively for anonymous statistical purposes. Without a subpoena, voluntary compliance on the part of your Internet Service Provider, or additional records from a third party, information stored or retrieved for this purpose alone cannot usually be used to identify you.
The technical storage or access is required to create user profiles to send advertising, or to track the user on a website or across several websites for similar marketing purposes.
andrew_ter – :
Cool to warm spring evenings, jasmine flowers seeping their sultry scent into the breeze. This perfume encapsulates this smell from home…
JASMINE
When they cried of freedom, when the sweet
mingling of woodsmoke and jasmine
with dust: grass, granite, antelope
bone: gathered into wrists which turned
light the colour of blood, darkness
a memory of the colour
of blood – when their voices lifted
that song and sent it echoing
across Africa, I knew it.
Sibanda had taught it to me.
Polishing the family’s shoes,
squatting outside the scullery
door. We both wore khaki trousers
many sizes too big; no shirt,
no shoes. I spat on the toecaps
while he brushed; and while he brushed
we sang: “Nkosi sikele’
iAfrica . . . ” over and over
till the birds joined in. August birds.
” . . . maluphakamiso phondo lwayo . . . ” *
It comes back to me, this August,
now that the jasmine is blooming
and the air is stilled by woodsmoke;
how they cried freedom, and how I
knew their song. A lingering chill
pinches Zimbabwean sunsets
in the cheeks of my children
squatting beside me as I write.
It is their song too. I teach it
to them, over and over, till
my tired eyes are pricked with tears
held back, sweet smoke, dust and jasmine.
© 1995, John Eppel
Mizumi – :
I have this one since many years. I was crazy about it at beginning but it quickly made me feel sick. It’s a powerful white floral, quite juicy and sensual, but it leaves a fresh trail which is not out of place in a summer night. It has a soft Middle Eastern vibe.
Not natural, of course, but quite well-made and very longlasting and projecting.
I really don’t know what makes me feel queasy and clenches my throat into headache.