Rain-scented perfume, this
Aromatic smell of rain-soaked earth
Monsoon-infused, centuries-old.

A man turns his head towards the laughter
As he crushes a batch of ancient clay.
Knowingly his attention returns to his family.

It is the smell of the baked, parched soil
When the first rains arrive after the drought
Which concerns the artisan of scented oils.

The enticing fragrance fills the air
With each precious drop of heavy syrup
Eked from the ages, eked from eternity.

Captured in the tiny bottle, power-filled.
The process has survived the fall of civilizations
And empires and conquerors.

It is said to have healing powers.
Aged like the land and its ancient people,
Deep and rich, the liquor of the essence of time.

It must come from this land, this people.