the innermost one

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 {1861-1941}, '72' from Gitanjali]