Spinner of the Stars

Under the veiled sky of a sigh,

I walk at the edge of memories,

The stars, my faithful companions,

Sing within me their ritornellos.

I stretch out my fingers towards the invisible,

And in impalpable threads of gold,

I read the wefts, I read the souls,

And I embroider a little calm.

I am the spinner of the stars,

In the sacred thread that Nymeïa unveils.

Every light, a healing,

Every whisper, a prayer.

I weave the night with tenderness,

Dreams sewn with delicacy.

My breath dances with the ether,

I sew hope into the universe,

A silver thread on a wound,

And sorrow becomes secret.

The constellations speak low to me,

The language of the heavens, the rhythm of footsteps,

I am the echo of their messages,

Muse of the skies, priestess of the ages.

I am the spinner of the stars,

With fingers bathed in boreal aura.

I knit spells in the shadows,

For those encumbered by pain.

Guided by the goddess of thread,

I heal, I soothe, I parade.

All is link, all is flow...

Every star a beat,

Every heart a firmament...

And I, in this suspended sea,

I trace a path of infinity.

I am the spinner of stars,

A soft note in the gust.

A prayer in velvet,

A burst of love without detour.

By Nymeïa's grace,

I heal those whom the night drowned.

Under the skies, I still weave...

A dream, a breath, a golden beat.