Thou settest a barrier in thine own being and then callest thy
severed self in myriad notes. This thy self-separation has taken
body in me.
The poignant song is echoed through all the sky in many-coloured
tears and smiles, alarms and hopes; waves rise up and sink again,
dreams break and form. In me is thy own defeat of self.
This screen that thou hast raised is painted with innumerable
figures with the brush of the night and the day. Behind it thy
seat is woven in wondrous mysteries of curves, casting away all
barren lines of straightness.
The great pageant of thee and me has overspread the sky. With
the tune of thee and me all the air is vibrant, and all ages pass
with the hiding and seeking of thee and me.
He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my being with his deep
hidden touches.
He it is who puts his enchantment upon these eyes and joyfully
plays on the chords of my heart in varied cadence of pleasure and
pain.
He it is who weaves the web of this _maya_ in evanescent
hues of gold and silver, blue and green, and lets peep out
through the folds his feet, at whose touch I forget myself.
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