Top Notes 
Nutmeg
Clove
Heart Notes 
Ylang-ylang
Woody notes
Cedar
Base Notes 
Vanilla
Musky notes
Patchouli
Amber
Shahar
17 Reviews
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Shahar
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46
The One Obsessed with Layla - One of the Most Beautiful Love Stories in the World
One of the most famous love stories is that of Layla and Ghain, Madschnūn Lailā - the one obsessed with Layla, who succumbed to this love.
There are many versions of this story, each of which can be read in the vastness of the internet or in the tale by Nizami, so I will not recount the one that is written, but rather the one that was told to me many years ago:
“Ghain and Layla were two children as one. Always together, when one came - the other came, when one went - the other went, and when one laughed - the other laughed. Looking into Layla's eyes was for Ghain like seeing the sun rise every day; there is no life without the sun, unimaginable to be without it. Together they had learned to walk and together they would one day leave the world. They lived like siblings, but they were not like siblings.
Anyone who had eyes in their head could see that. Layla's father was a wealthy merchant and rarely saw his children. Ghain's father, his childhood friend, an honest and prosperous innkeeper, though not rich, saw his son Ghain and Layla every one of their radiant days, and both his heart and mind seemed to hold the path of the two towards a shared future as possible.
As Layla grew older, donned the veil, and was no longer allowed to roam with Ghain, her father took his son Ghain aside and told him not to be sad; the time had to be waited out to ask Layla's father, who was once his good friend, for her hand.
That day came and brought darkness into all lives when Layla's father mocked Ghain and his father, his own childhood friend. He would never give Layla to Ghain and quickly married her off to his even wealthier business partner, for Layla was beautiful and a jewel of her kind.
Ghain was no longer Ghain without Layla; he did not eat, he did not sleep, and when the caravan with Layla left the village forever, he never set foot in a house again: he went and remained at the edge of the desert, under the open sky, under the sun that day by day burned the healthy mind out of his head. He wandered aimlessly, recognized no one, neither by face nor by heart. Confused love verses flowed incessantly from his lips, like the tears from his eyes. His life was empty and lonely like the desert, and his heart burned for a cold spirit.
This is the story of Ghain, who was obsessed with Layla.”
The Westerner now has a thousand questions: What is the end of the story? Why was nothing done? Did Layla love him just as much? Why did she not refuse?
These questions do not arise. The suffering and pain and their contrast to this all-consuming love are the central point, and it is about preserving the beauty of the story with the beauty of the narrative.
The song "Layla" by Eric Clapton refers to this love story in a version where Layla and Ghain meet and fall in love only in adulthood.
When LAYLA by Al Kimiya was announced a few years ago, I immediately had the memory of this story in my mind and very, very high expectations. They were all fulfilled.
For just as in Madschnūn Lailā, LAYLA as a fragrance is not really tangible, remains diffuse, is not concrete. And yet truly and present. Without the fragrance pyramid in mind, I would never have come up with these 'ingredients' - conversely, however, one finds the components in the scent.
If I had to describe LAYLA without knowledge of the fragrance pyramid, I would say: warm spiced milk. Additionally, the scent becomes so one with my skin that after a few hours I can no longer say where I had applied it - yet its aura is there.
Unfortunately, no one else has noticed when I wore LAYLA - even my children claim when prompted to "take a sniff" - "THAT smells like you, Mama."
That’s why I pondered for so long whether to buy it: who spends THAT MUCH money on a perfume that no one notices as perfume? And it doesn’t help to apply more perfume - LAYLA refuses and remains in every dosage and no matter where, delicate, subtle, and elegant - a dark shadow. Clearly oriental - yet not perfume-oriental. Feminine - but not feminine. Absolutely timeless with one foot in eternity. Great perfume art!
In the end, I felt like Ghain: when the bottle was empty, I realized that I simply do not want to live without LAYLA. Money could solve my problem - with much more money, Ghain could probably have solved his problem too. That’s why I see the "moral" of this story as somewhat unorthodox: if Ghain had been a problem solver, this beautifully tragic story would not exist.
I hope I haven’t disappointed anyone by my description being so little focused on the description of the fragrance itself. But Sweetsmell75 has provided an absolutely accurate comment to which nothing of substance could be added.
It was a matter close to my heart to unfold this great story behind the name - every time I use Layla, I think of it, and I hope to have passed on some inspiration.
“What passes is time, but not love. Everything else may be mere trinkets and juggling and imagination: it is not. For the brazier on which it burns is eternity itself, which has neither beginning nor end.” Nizami
“Layla, you've got me on my knees
Layla, I'm begging, darling please
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind” Eric Clapton
There are many versions of this story, each of which can be read in the vastness of the internet or in the tale by Nizami, so I will not recount the one that is written, but rather the one that was told to me many years ago:
“Ghain and Layla were two children as one. Always together, when one came - the other came, when one went - the other went, and when one laughed - the other laughed. Looking into Layla's eyes was for Ghain like seeing the sun rise every day; there is no life without the sun, unimaginable to be without it. Together they had learned to walk and together they would one day leave the world. They lived like siblings, but they were not like siblings.
Anyone who had eyes in their head could see that. Layla's father was a wealthy merchant and rarely saw his children. Ghain's father, his childhood friend, an honest and prosperous innkeeper, though not rich, saw his son Ghain and Layla every one of their radiant days, and both his heart and mind seemed to hold the path of the two towards a shared future as possible.
As Layla grew older, donned the veil, and was no longer allowed to roam with Ghain, her father took his son Ghain aside and told him not to be sad; the time had to be waited out to ask Layla's father, who was once his good friend, for her hand.
That day came and brought darkness into all lives when Layla's father mocked Ghain and his father, his own childhood friend. He would never give Layla to Ghain and quickly married her off to his even wealthier business partner, for Layla was beautiful and a jewel of her kind.
Ghain was no longer Ghain without Layla; he did not eat, he did not sleep, and when the caravan with Layla left the village forever, he never set foot in a house again: he went and remained at the edge of the desert, under the open sky, under the sun that day by day burned the healthy mind out of his head. He wandered aimlessly, recognized no one, neither by face nor by heart. Confused love verses flowed incessantly from his lips, like the tears from his eyes. His life was empty and lonely like the desert, and his heart burned for a cold spirit.
This is the story of Ghain, who was obsessed with Layla.”
The Westerner now has a thousand questions: What is the end of the story? Why was nothing done? Did Layla love him just as much? Why did she not refuse?
These questions do not arise. The suffering and pain and their contrast to this all-consuming love are the central point, and it is about preserving the beauty of the story with the beauty of the narrative.
The song "Layla" by Eric Clapton refers to this love story in a version where Layla and Ghain meet and fall in love only in adulthood.
When LAYLA by Al Kimiya was announced a few years ago, I immediately had the memory of this story in my mind and very, very high expectations. They were all fulfilled.
For just as in Madschnūn Lailā, LAYLA as a fragrance is not really tangible, remains diffuse, is not concrete. And yet truly and present. Without the fragrance pyramid in mind, I would never have come up with these 'ingredients' - conversely, however, one finds the components in the scent.
If I had to describe LAYLA without knowledge of the fragrance pyramid, I would say: warm spiced milk. Additionally, the scent becomes so one with my skin that after a few hours I can no longer say where I had applied it - yet its aura is there.
Unfortunately, no one else has noticed when I wore LAYLA - even my children claim when prompted to "take a sniff" - "THAT smells like you, Mama."
That’s why I pondered for so long whether to buy it: who spends THAT MUCH money on a perfume that no one notices as perfume? And it doesn’t help to apply more perfume - LAYLA refuses and remains in every dosage and no matter where, delicate, subtle, and elegant - a dark shadow. Clearly oriental - yet not perfume-oriental. Feminine - but not feminine. Absolutely timeless with one foot in eternity. Great perfume art!
In the end, I felt like Ghain: when the bottle was empty, I realized that I simply do not want to live without LAYLA. Money could solve my problem - with much more money, Ghain could probably have solved his problem too. That’s why I see the "moral" of this story as somewhat unorthodox: if Ghain had been a problem solver, this beautifully tragic story would not exist.
I hope I haven’t disappointed anyone by my description being so little focused on the description of the fragrance itself. But Sweetsmell75 has provided an absolutely accurate comment to which nothing of substance could be added.
It was a matter close to my heart to unfold this great story behind the name - every time I use Layla, I think of it, and I hope to have passed on some inspiration.
“What passes is time, but not love. Everything else may be mere trinkets and juggling and imagination: it is not. For the brazier on which it burns is eternity itself, which has neither beginning nor end.” Nizami
“Layla, you've got me on my knees
Layla, I'm begging, darling please
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind” Eric Clapton
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