Before your name was whispered here,

before the Earth had turned a year,

there were secrets carved in starlight—

truths too vast for mortal sight.

 

They live in silence, soft and wide,

within a pull you feel inside.

Not written down in books or stone,

but etched in light your soul has known.

 

They speak of why you dream at night,

and why your tears can turn to light.

They hold the maps of where you’ve been—

in galaxies, in forms, in skin.

 

You are not random, dimmed, or small—

you are the echo of it all.

A spark returned to time and place

to leave your fingerprints in grace.

 

So when you feel you’ve drifted away,

look up. Let silence have its say.

The stars remember who you are.

They know your voice—

they’ve watched you from afar.

 

And in your bones, you hold the light—

of all those secrets

carved in starlight.