That I should make much of myself
and turn it on all sides, thus casting
coloured shadows on thy radiance––
such is thy maya.
   Thou settest a barrier in thine own
being and then callest thy severed self
in myriad notes. This thy self-separa-
tion 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 hid-
ing and seeking of thee and me.