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-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.