Elegy for the Coiled Souls
There’s a unique sadness I feel when I encounter people who embody, in their own way, the likeness of a snake. The sadness isn’t a sorrow I feel for myself or for the interactions we’ve had, but rather a quiet lament for them, for the human condition they’ve become entangled within. It’s the sorrow of witnessing what feels like a relinquishment — a resignation to play a role in a story they didn’t author but somehow accepted as their own.
Snakes are creatures of precision and silence, moving with an air of secrecy and caution. In people, these qualities manifest as something far less beautiful. Cunning becomes mistrust, caution becomes suspicion, and their silence — often strategic — is the kind that cloaks intentions instead of offering quiet wisdom. I watch as they coil themselves around their own ambitions, suffocating their potential for authentic connection. To them, this behavior might feel like survival, a well-crafted strategy. But what a bleak way to navigate the world.
What saddens me most is that, often, they are entirely unaware of the path they tread. Like a snake shedding its skin, they present layers of newness, reinventing themselves for different situations, different people. Yet beneath each shed layer lies a core that hasn’t transformed, only re-covered. They mistake adaptation for evolution, forgetting that real change requires vulnerability, a willingness to shed not only the skin but the comfort of disguise. I wonder, do they ever truly see themselves in the mirror, or is their reflection an eternal game of hide-and-seek, a shadow they’ve never dared to confront?
It’s not as though I am immune to the temptations of guardedness or to the allure of detachment in a world that often prizes speed over depth. But watching these individuals, I see how their lives become a series of hollow victories. Each step forward in deceit, each hidden motive achieved, is another step away from the rawness of what it means to be alive. They live in a constant state of anticipation, always on guard, unable to surrender even for a moment to the simplicity of real connection. Their identities become fractured across masks they wear, and I wonder if they’ve forgotten their own faces.
The saddest irony, perhaps, is that they mistake their concealment for strength. It takes far more courage to live without artifice, to be vulnerable in one’s words and open in one’s intentions. But these snake-like individuals, they see openness as weakness, honesty as a gap in their defenses. I want to tell them that the greatest strength lies in that very gap, that only through it can something genuine flow in and out. I wish they understood that in protecting themselves so fiercely, they also keep out all the things that might heal them.
And yet, I can’t help but empathize. The need to protect, to deceive, to hide — it usually stems from old wounds, from betrayals that have hardened into distrust. At some point, they chose to adopt this skin, perhaps without even realizing they had other choices. It’s easier to slither through life’s complexities, coiling away from danger, rather than standing vulnerable and unguarded. I wonder who they were before the world taught them to coil and hiss, before they wrapped themselves in armor disguised as cunning.
It’s in these moments that my sadness for them deepens. I see lives that could have blossomed, connections that could have thrived, and people who might have loved deeply, if only they dared. Instead, they slither away from these possibilities, caught in their own web of caution, missing out on the very essence of living. In their desire to avoid harm, they end up losing the chance to experience anything real.
Maybe this is why I find solitude a gentle balm. It’s in solitude that I remind myself of the value of authenticity, the power of open wounds and unguarded thoughts. I see these snake-like individuals and realize that no amount of protection, no number of well-placed masks, can substitute the relief of just being oneself, raw and uncoiled. In the quiet, I reclaim the freedom to live without shedding skins, knowing that the only armor I need is the acceptance of my own vulnerability.
And so, I watch them, these “snakes,” and feel for them in ways they may never understand. I carry the hope that one day they’ll pause, catch a glimpse of their true reflection, and realize that the world they see through slitted eyes could open wide if only they’d let themselves be.
Coiled souls who hide in shadows deep,
Guarded hearts where secrets sleep.
In shedding skins, they lose their way,
While truth and light drift far away.
Thanks for dropping by !
Disclaimer : Everything written above, I owe to the great minds I’ve encountered and the voices I’ve heard along the way.