There is power in you!

New on my Instagram blog:- “It is easier to lose track of honesty. Standing in the middle of a noisy room, screams echoing, lies lingering above the heads of lousy strangers; eyes meet, but for whatever brief moment they do, they only find excuses to break away. Such rooms are no less than mazes. They are no less than black holes where justice is served in each corner.” Click here to read more.

There is power in victory; there is power in defeat. There is power in the chaos; there is power in numbing silence. Power is where your attention is.

What catches your eye has the power to pull you, to push you, to change you, and mislead you. What catches your eye has the power to mold you as it pleases.

Afraid? So what do you do now? Walk through life with blinds up your vision? Or, do you let your mind reach places before your eyes do? That is what a daydreamer does!

Daydreamers weave illusions out of thin air. A few of the diligent ones marry those illusions with the reality. When they do so, we tend to call them wizards for the lack of a better term- I prefer to call them wise.

There is power in knowing that there is power in you- there is greatness in using that power to uplift the bullied; there is power in knowing that this enchanting power can blind you against your purpose- there is royalty in standing your ground against that enchantment.

Regardless of your knowledge of it, and regardless of how you use it- there is power in you! Do you have what it takes to hone it?

– Written by Gauri Walecha

Dark Side of the Moon

When I walk, I walk alone;

The tenders of my feet caress these rough barren lands each night,
and from what I know
my tears, sometimes, water them;

I doubt if they are fond of me,
if they appreciate my presence,
or, if they can’t stand me, can they?

Do they despise watching me invade their previously unwavering abandonment?
Do loners ever grow admiration for their suitors?

When I walk, I walk until the edge of the light,
I transcend its boundaries
and reach the dark side of the moon;

I make friends with the ringing silences,
and find comrades in the blank black skies;
I find sparkles, tossed around the unconquered lands,
and use them to adorn my nakedness;

When I walk, I walk in purpose;
In the purpose of finding what is lost,
and losing what was never mine;

In the purpose of illuminating what’s hidden,
and then bringing it to the world,
for, the world deserves all the knowledge it has been denied;

I walk to bring the wanderers back home,
and to send the caged away on their own journeys;

When I walk, I walk to serve,
and not just to savor;
I walk to ignite evolution,
and to bring down the old walls that stood guard;
For, I can see what lies beyond them,
for, I know that the world has to see it;

They are being denied their own freedom…

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!

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. 

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

The One about Rains and Hearts

I spilled colors on a rather blank canvas. They dripped off the edges, down in a puddle of water, giving colors to a rather blank sky… An illusion some people so need.

Rains mark my favorite time of the year. Those few minutes of Earthen fragrances sent afloat by the happy soils… The beauty of the greens hanging in the air and rustling every now and then to sing songs of merriment. Dancing hearts, joyous smiles… I don’t know what could possibly make one hate such raw charm. But then, some people do.

Some hearts who had to let another go in one sad monsoon don’t find their bliss in the rains anymore. All they can think of is the way their heart burnt like a forgotten lamp waiting to die before someone remembers it. All they can hear is the sound of their tears falling into puddles that the rain must have filled. All they can find is the melancholy trapped behind the blue hues of water ridden clouds. All they see, all they smell, all they feel… is bereavement.

Bereavement of the rain washing away the last few marks of the last walk they had with their beloved; of new life growing from the old flowers they had buried underneath; of trees falling and withering away, taking along the marks of their journey; of a traveler traveling farther away from her childhood home.

Separation leaves hollows where once life was, and just like an abandoned crevice, these hollows fill with memories when rains fall, but the water dries away- memories don’t.

They stay behind, adding shades of sepia to the neons of joy. Adding rust to the sheen of gleaming metal. Adding gore to glory and pride to prudence.

They tell stories like a charm and make you forget others like magic. Before you know, that void is like the Sun shining upon your midnight fog. The one you can’t resist following, not once in seven moons.

To the one who is yet to bloom

To the one who is yet to bloom, 

I see you…You have waited! You stood your ground when the Earth began to shake, you swam through the roughest of waters, you held your home when a storm took everything away… you waited through all yet never yelled a single curse!

I see you… and you are the strongest I have ever seen!

Now you have begun to run out of patience. Little things don’t dawn smiles over you anymore but leave you behind with risen haste. 
You have lost faith. 
You have lost strength. 
You have lost hope. 

The thick skin that you once grew, is now into ruins and you… you know you can’t take the pain anymore. 

So, what do you choose now? Defeat?
I don’t blame you… Neither do I blame the darkness. 

But I do blame something…
I blame those mouths who kept telling you how you must have achieved glory by a certain age. 
I blame those minds who came up with a structure to confine people’s lives. 
I blame those hands that had the audacity to strangle you into these chains.

But you? No, I don’t blame you!

Instead, 
I am standing by your side and cheering for you, making sure that my voice is louder than the taunts yelled at you.
I am waiting for you, on the other side of the finishing line with my arms wide stretched, ready to pull you in an embrace the moment you reach.

Who am I, you ask? 

I am the one meant to show you the right path.
I am here to hold your hand and guide you as you walk.
… and, as long as you follow me, I promise everything will be alright.

Just don’t stop! For me… don’t stop!

With love,
Your heart.

– Gauri Walecha