From the navel, sacred knot of life,
a thread ascends to dance with the sun,
woven in gold, in shadow, free of strife,
a mantle embracing the heart as one.
A subtle feather, spreading in its flight,
like a flower spilling colors on the field,
so too the rebozo, in its woven might,
holds love in every thread it dares to yield.
Oh, divine light, caressing as it glides,
revealing skin, yet guarding it with care,
a veil of joy where the soul resides,
a warm embrace, Eden’s breath in the air.
And in each strand the loom entwines with grace,
dwells whispers of an ancient, timeless song,
the hands’ soft hymn, which never leaves its place,
weaving the rebozo, where art belongs.
You who carry its weight, its tender plea,
can you not hear the voices of the past?
It’s feather, flower, light, and purity—
the rebozo, eternal, in your soul held fast.
