The Gardener (Tagore)/50
50
Love, my heart longs day and night for the meeting with you—for the meeting that is like all-devouring death.
Sweep me away like a storm; take everything I have; break open my sleep and plunder my dreams. Rob me of my world.
In that devastation, in the utter nakedness of spirit, let us become one in beauty.
Alas for my vain desire! Where is this hope for union except in thee, my God?