Shadows

What is hiding in the shadows?
Who is this demon? How have I not crossed paths with it yet?

I have been lurking around in this darkness since the dawn of this moonless night.
Who is this ghoul that managed to save itself from my quest? Has my search been hasty? Have I missed some corners?

I met a monk yesterday evening;
I met a monk on my way back home, as I returned from another day of running behind lost causes;

He told me I was naive;
that I didn’t know who I was,
that I didn’t know what I was made of,
that I haven’t found my light yet because I never embraced my darkness.

I paid heed to what he said;
I paid heed and began my pilgrimage in the wake of this moonless night.

I went through alleyways lined with the momoirs of my past;
some pulled me into a deep embrace,
others hissed back.

I traveled past the relics that commemorated my wins,
and past the broken records that were stuck- stuck at the songs of some bitter defeats.

I ran through the corridors,
walked through several old rusty doors.
crawled across floors,
searched rooms-
desperate to find the key.

The key to my heart;
the key that would take to my light, my love.

All of this seems like a trap now!

Each time I feel like I am done, another fragment of my darkness falls in front of me;
I have been picking up battles I never intended to.

These shadows don’t seem to end;
do they ever?

Don’t tear the wall down!

You keep a brick at its place, and you stare at it. You stare at it long enough for it to lose its identity for you, for it to simply become a mass of nothing, 
kept on nothing, 
for nothing;

In that moment, you almost want to smash the whole wall down; the wall that took you days to erect, the wall that made you feel proud of yourself each time you walked by, the wall that made you feel like yourself for the first time in years- that wall suddenly begins to mean nothing for you… and you… you want to tear it down!

Just like you tore yourself down,
when the storm approached; 
the storm that you thought you won’t be able to take,
or, was it for the shame that the possible failure could have brought along?

Regardless,
you tore yourself down before you could have tried,
you refused to fight because somehow you thought loath tastes sweeter than defeat;
you never gave yourself a chance.

This time around, don’t back away,
give yourself a chance;
don’t tear the wall down!

Liar

How long have you been lying for? Hiding? Does this mask feel like your own skin now? 

Can’t rip it off? Or, not just yet?

Oh, they are beautiful! These castles you built on the top of those hills… Such beauty!

I wonder how long they will keep standing for… I wonder if you care about that, do you?

Oh, they are beautiful! These paper roses you left in my room last night… So endearing!

You know they will eventually give your secret away, right? 

It is hard to look past roses that never wilt!

You wear charms, and oftentimes, smile like one. I wonder if that’s your way of concealing the rot in you or just a trick you use to lure the rotten in your victims.

Oh, look how perfect you are! Must have taken you ages to erect this flawless facade.

Though, does it hurt? Keeping this weight hooked against your skin must hurt.

Call me a suitor of that resilience of yours; not so much of the sport, though… I don’t buy into illusions that often!

Stagheads and Castles…

Fires, when left burning, can bring the greenest forests down. Tangerines hanging in the air, wringing the fiery crimson out of lives, devouring upon the beauty, leaving behind corpses; what a shame?

Fires that can warm hearts, feed hunger, chase the dark away, can also cause an apocalypse when lit by the hands that are either too weak to control them or simply don’t want to. 

Each night, you travel down the forbidden paths of your mind, pick up stagheads on your way back home, and decorate walls with the rewards of your morbid hunts. You always knew there was something wrong about the way you saw the world, but when did things go so bad?

Roofs, when too dense, trap your light away from dawning onto the world. Worst… they make you feel comfortable with not having to shine as bright as you deserve to.

—–

You were once an epitome of peace; a serene brook making its way through a dense forest, flowing alongside the scants of poorly watered flower shrubs, nurturing them into beautiful gardens. 

Now, your tranquility has given into swamps; you don’t nurture, you swallow… you swallow the tiniest bit of sunshine that manages to make its way through the thick canopy standing overhead.

—–

The roof that once made you feel safe has, now, been holding you captive in a dark corner of your room, making you question all things beautiful. 

There are days you get up, walk up to the door you entered through, but immediately back away. Why? Do you feel guilty about abandoning something that once kept you safe? Do you fear being called ungrateful? Who taught you that choosing yourself was a crime? 

—–

Build castles! Back in the days, when kingdoms felt the need to put their power on display, they built mighty castles- mighty, magnificent castles that stood on top of the highest peaks- castles that spoke of nothing but strength and glory- castles that were not meant to scare the enemies away but to tell that this kingdom can fight and survive any attack thrown its way.

—-

Build castles! Tell them… tell them!

The Moon

I had sworn. I had sworn I will never write about the Moon. 

It did. It made me gasp at its beauty each time I looked at it; filled me with endearing wonderment for the silver it spilled; had me looking for a braveheart who had the courage to bring it down for me; 
I kept looking,
I kept running,
I never found,
I never wrote.

Picture Credit: Pinterest (Hometalk.com)

A deep black cloud, the wrath of a thousand thunders, scents of far-fetched rain-drenched soils, and me… I sat under the sky- naked, poisoned, cloaked, and redeemed. 

Magic for the hearts who wander, set camps at nights, travel afar in the days and wish for homes at dawns; magic unbound, magic unfound- the magic of the phases of the Moon. 

It waxes and wanes, grows upon the darkness of each heart, only to fade away later. 
Sorcery for the lone wolves to bask under, and a nightmare for those who could never befriend the downhills of life. 

The Moon is an alchemist, weaving dreams for those asleep, and visions for those awake; Merlin to the wizards of the night and Helios to the worshipers of the day. 

A totem of beauty and an omen of emotional warfare, both at the same time. 

The Moon is what you look forward to and despise sitting with, when the world leaves you alone to suffer. 

The Haunting

Hurt voices are disruptive. They are sharp; they echo against and pierce through the walls that try to hold them captive. Maybe that is why you should never try to contain your pain behind the fragility of your skin.

But then, how do you purge it out and who do you pour it in front of, when it is the world that is hurting you? What do you do when you can’t hold onto the poison anymore, but you don’t know where to spit it out? Do you go around, living a life of misery?

Or, do you take a risk? You trust strangers; you stand in their way until they agree to lend you their ears?

Risks are poorly crafted invitations to a grand display of courage. Strangely enough, the battle begins before you even sign up for it.

Risks are ruthless; they approach you with no mercy. It is either all or nothing; do or die; leap or lie… to yourself.

What do you do when life makes you choose between self-inflicted horror, and deliberately imposed haunting? Do you set your stories free, and let them creep upon the souls of your listeners; or do you let them feed on your own?

Just around the corner!

“How do you know love is right around the corner?”

“I keep catching myself smiling at nothing.”

Seasons arrive, and then they wither away- all in the blink of an eye. You find yourself chasing butterflies, bread, and blizzards, all in the same day, trying to put a meaning to something that gives meaning to your world- your existence!

Have you ever thought of stopping, turning around, and giving a long enchanted look to yourself in the mirror? Have you ever thought about how lonely you get, each time you rush past it, nonchalantly?

You need love. Yes… more than anything else in this world, you need love!

You need a love that holds you in the nights that chase your smiles away. A love that doesn’t shy away from sitting silently by your side even though you have tried to push it away a thousand times. 

A love that doesn’t make you wonder if you are enough, instead it tells you that you are more. 

You need empathy, compassion, kindness; you need all that and more, and you need it all from yourself. 

Your fairy-tale romance is just around the corner. You just have to wait- wait for the lover inside you to wake up!

-Gauri Walecha

I see faces…

People leave homes behind. They move away. I wonder if their stories ever do.

I wonder if, as much as we believe, have we ever been powerful enough to rip memories off the walls that boast them.

Or, is it just an illusion, yet another desperate attempt at gaining power over time?

Will we ever know? Do we even care?

I believe when homes are abandoned, they aren’t really left alone. They are left behind with tales, hiding underneath the faces that dwell in the random patterns of their marble floors.

They are left behind with faces, with eyes full of questions, and mouths too numb to answer.

And, each time you feel like someone’s following you, it’s often just an old memory, trapped in a plain white wall somewhere, waiting to be lived again.

We are back home!

I started my blogging journey with the name ‘From The Quill’. The name was really close to my heart. It took me months to come up with this, and honestly, I couldn’t have wished for a better name for my website. In June 2019, I decided to move to the next level and buy a custom domain for the same name.

For some reason or another, the domain wasn’t available and that broke my heart. I knew I had to move away from an identity that had really fuelled my love for my blog and it pained me. Eventually, I came up with a new name- Life In Yellows and I loved that too. But, it just didn’t feel right. Something felt off and I don’t know if that was my attachment to the last name or simply overthinking, the new name had me spiraling down into an unforeseen writer’s block.

It was a rut I couldn’t escape, no matter how hard I tried.

So, over the last weekend, I began debating the idea of changing my website’s name yet again. The choice this time was rather clearer, I chose to go with the name I kept for my podcast and my YouTube channel- Yet Unheard.

But then, I don’t know why, but I had an intuitive nudge to check the availability of my first ever choice, and that is when the universe blessed me with the happiest miracle of my life. I jumped with joy when I found out that the domain was back in the market.

So, ladies and gentlemen, here we are… back to the basics, to the roots. http://www.lifeinyellows.com is now http://www.fromthequill.com

Honestly, nothing has ever made me happier than this change… and now, I hope to bring the spirit of my blog back to you. The raw and authentic Gauri, writing her heart out. I am honestly so excited about this.

Thank you so much for choosing to be a part of my journey. You people don’t even know how much that means to me. Forever grateful. Much love!

Rare. Rarer

It’s rare to find people who smile when roses wilt, not because they despise its beauty, but because they can’t wait for it to rise from the neath again. If you have the eye of a sorcerer, everything has the soul of a phoenix.

Why do endings hurt as much as they do? Why do beginnings scare us? Why is it that the roads bring us peace but not the place it is taking us to? Do places mean us more harm than journeys can?

It is rare to ask more questions when all your life you have only learned to answer the ones that already exist. Rarer to knit flags that boast your curiosity instead of weaving drapes that cloak it away from the world.

Why do we rush to put an end to contrast as soon as we encounter it? What is this obsession we have for symmetry? Where does it come from? When did we fall in love with indifference?

Aren’t warriors born under the storm-stirred skies? Doesn’t the revolution begin when the heart feels a need to end what exists? Then why fear chaos when it’s nothing but the birthing ground for the new? Or, do we fear what is yet to come more than what has long fallen?

It is rare to love falling. Rarer to love rising again, because it’s difficult to fall in love with the pain of building a new home away every time the former collapses… and if you can, then did you ever fall in love with the last one?

Travelers are conflicted. Lost. They run to lose their identity away in the crowds and then find a deranged new face from the paradoxes of life.

Every evening when they camp on the side of the road, their new face pricks against their skin and all the tears that they kept locked away in a casket come running to them at the dawn of their pause.

Why would they like pausing then? Why won’t they run forever and pray that the Sun never sets on their day? But, in the hind of their futile wishes, they know they can’t control fate. Sun sets; they pause, and they yearn to run again.

But, it is rare for a traveler to choose to pause for a forever one day and so it is rarer to find peace in the silence of the now.

-Gauri Walecha