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It is he, the innermost one, who wakens
up my consciousness with his deep hidden
touches. It is he who reads magic incantations
upon my eyes, and joyfully plays upon on
the chords of my heart in varied cadence of
pleasure and pain. It is he who weaves the
web of this maya in evanescent hues of
gold and silver, blue and green, and through
its folds(illegible text) lets peep his feet at whose touch
I forget my self. 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 rapturean ecstasy of bliss and sorrow.
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