This soul belongs to a seeker, and this heart, to a dreamer. This is me.
All of me.
For me, every moment is an autobiography. I write a chapter each day, and share a slice of my life, in every piece inscribed. May be sometimes, the pen becomes the only way to express the unspoken, and I love to ink the tale of my becoming. It’s fierce, and I love to be a flame. Yet, sometimes I feel, this delicate soul is soft and serene, like a prayer flag, amidst the field of red.
1st March, 2020
Somewhere in Bengal
I was walking on the road alone. The morning was filled with peace and tranquility. The spring breeze was carrying the scent of Krishnachura blossoms. The red flowers beside the road were looking beautiful. Somewhere, the splendors dissolved in me. Spring is the season of falling in love, they say, and I fall in love with me, each day, in a new way. I find myself evolving around metamorphosis. Since the day I breathed first, this delicate soul has been nurtured, transformed, and bloomed.
I collected petals of red from the ground, and they seemed like my broken dreams, awaiting to shine in unison. I found a part of me there. Whole, yet shattered. Present, yet lost. There, yet beyond. I left it there, and walked ahead.
I reached to an anonymous tree with white blossoms. Something was heavenly in that place, it made me stop there for a while. Amidst the field of fierce red, the white tree seemed like a prayer flag. Soft, serene, divine.
I sat beneath the tree, the moment was like a drop of eternity. I looked around, the serenity of the morning filled my heart with a divine bliss. I picked up a leaf from the ground, and whispered, “I wish, time freezes here for a moment. Let this morning, this moment and this leaf, write a chapter of my autobiography.”
Fierce as red, soft as white,
A truth unveiled, yet, a mist, disguised.
Here is a girl who loves to write,
Begins to tell you her tale of life.
Princess of her father,
She is her mother’s pride,
Her sister’s protector from the evil,
And, a forever guide.
She is a daughter, brave and bright.
She loves to call herself, undaunted,
For she strongly believes in the power of resilience.
She fell, she broke, she was shattered,
She cried, she screamed.
But, every time she fell, she dared to rise,
Once again, like the splendid daybreak,
After a dreadful night.
She is as red as the Sun,
For a thousand blazing suns
She hides inside.
As blue as the sky,
For she has,
A millions of clouds to fly high.
She is the rainbow, she is, sunshine.
You’ll find her in hundreds strokes of hues,
Thus she throws colours, on the canvas of life.
The world has named her, ‘The girl who failed.’
Is it all she deserves to be called?
She thinks, and peeps inside,
A hundred mirrors come her way,
And reflects, “The Woman That She Is”,
Reborn, and redefined.
She is fierce like the fire. Bold and courageous, she shines like the sword. Outspoken, sometimes people call her. But she is fearless. To raise her voice for the cause matters, she is unafraid.
She is a girl who lives, loves and laughs. Lives to the fullest, loves abundantly. Laughing aloud, she hides the echo of the void she bears in her heart. She finds her in the sound of silence, for she is a song of solitude.
The girl who chased her dream, that’s all she wanted to be heard. But instead, she is called, ‘Shameless.’ For lifting the veil of truth, she has always been, unashamed.
She is a girl who believes in the beauty of dreams, of magic, and miracles. A magic is happening with her, every moment, in every blink of eyes. The most beautiful miracle resides within her.
The world tried to clip her wings, “Too ambitious, girl, you shout too much”, often, she was blamed. They tried to silent her inner voice, for being a rebel. There was a moment when she said to herself, “It’s enough. Let me quit.” Next moment she received a message from a stranger, quoting, “Girl, you are love. You inspired me to make my own way”. She felt blessed, and somewhere in her heart, hope blossomed, once again.
The world loves to shoot her amazing compliments. Sometimes called ‘selfish’, sometimes, a not-so-beautiful girl of marriageable age, who doesn’t deserve a fairytale. She is deaf at these fragile words, for she knows well, she is an achiever. Floating at the edge of life, she came to know that, every breath is a reward itself. She is a warrior, she loves to write the tale of her own. For now, she has become as sharp as the tip of an arrow. Burning herself into the fire, she was born, anew.
All the time someone tried to judge her fault, and said, “You are imperfect, full of flaws”, she has been privileged to have another voice, saying, “Girl, I trust your ability, you define beauty in your own way.”
Call her mad, or crazy, or rule breaker, she is carefree, she loves to live her life in this way. Walking along the path of brokenness, she has become the bloom of glory. She is brokenly beautiful, scars make her more graceful than the diamond necklace. She loves to make her own empire of words, where thoughts prevail and she finds her solace.
She is as wild as the storm, as calm as the sea.
She is a puppet of the stage called ‘Life’, for she plays hundreds of roles together. A daughter, a sister, a friend, a lover. Someone’s beloved, whether, a hater for others. Someone’s soulmate, someone’s unfulfilled desire. She finds her in the sublime beauty of the dusk. She is a promise, of someone’s last chapter.
A queen who left the crown behind, she is a question unanswered, forever.
To bring smile on a child’s face, to hold a lamp in someone’s despair and darkness, she is the light she wants to embrace. She finds her in dream, peace and hope. For she believes, her heaven is on earth, where she spreads love and light.
The flame is blazing in her heart, sometimes, turns into the fire. Yet, it’s there to kindle the lamp of her heart, turning the fierce warrior into the sea of kindness. And the sword becomes the light of wisdom. She forgives, and surrounds the grace of gratitude. She is grateful to everything she has been blessed with, even the darkness.
For she has realized, darkness is merciful.
Just when she started believing that she was left with the remnants of a nightmare, at that most unreal hour, at the last stroke of the night, the universe gifted her a handful of stars. And she found, she is a prayer, for she bears, a prayer flag in her heart.
Before leaving that heavenly place, I bowed my head to the tree, and prayed for a while. When it ended, I was about to leave that place, I saw, a white blossom fell on the ground. I smiled, and walked, leaving behind those fallen leaves. Somewhere amidst them, that leaf was lost. The morning captured a glimpse of me, and a chapter of my autobiography was written in that lost leaf. Perhaps, someday a traveller like me, would find it here. And there will be an echo, “Once, there was a girl who prayed here.”
-From the diary of ‘A Girl Who Writes.’