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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.
Days come and ages pass,
and it is ever he who moves my heart in many a name,
in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow.
Rabindranath Tagore
Read poems about / on: silver, sorrow, green, joy, pain, heart
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