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 …