But All Men Judge

Judge thou not, and be not judged. 
Your eyes, though they see as much as

A shadow from the viewing side of the screen,

Are shoehorned to be self-blinding searchlights that

Seek and see what is not shown, not showcased. 
Your tongue its bearer’s estate will not soil,

But will let loose a volley of venom-tipped arrows 

At the defenseless repute of another,

An ivory fabric you motley with black words and scarlet. 
How do you, a closed museum of dark secrets beneath this veil of flesh, 

Conceive yourself fit to pronounce the idle verdict?

Even the white-wigged hammer-pounder’s judgment can be flawed. 
Judge thou not, but all men judge.

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Remedies for Healing a Hurt Heart

There is that one feeling that cuts deeper than a razor-sharp scalpel- hurt. Hurt is a consequence of love- love that you gave but never received in the way you hoped to. There are ways of coping with the pain inflicted by love. These are my self-discovered therapeutic remedies to refrain from imploding or exploding, or in extreme cases, both…

  • Let your mouth speak for your heart

If talking to someone aids you to express your love, it will also serve you well to express your hurt. No matter how deranged this may sound, talking to yourself or an inanimate object is also remedial. But if you’re bent on speaking to a mortal in the flesh, select that person with as much care and caution you would reinforce while selecting your wedding gown. Never seek sympathy, rather, seek counsel, warmth and understanding.

  • Let your eyes water and be your own comforter

Crying is a means of purging oneself of the debris of accumulated hurt. Doing it in solitude is most preferential to me because when I’m hurt, I feel like I am my own comforter and that my own heart understands the reason behind my tears better than anyone else would. Somewhere I read that “clouds burst when they can’t withhold their contents any longer, and so it is with us.”

  • Allow time to be your doctor

Just like a physical wound requires time and treatment to heal, so does an emotional one. Never pick at a scar that has closed after much ado. But remember that time doesn’t relieve you of the weight you are bearing. It just accustoms you to carrying it.

  • Learn to accept

Once Doctor Time has accomplished his job, you will be in the phase of accepting your altered state of emotional affairs. Never expect to be skyrocketed to Planet Euphoria in no time. Recovering from the sting of heartbreak is equable with recovering from a malady. Remember that your heart might still be fragile and vulnerable, so do not dive headfirst (or heart-first without using your head) into the pool of pleasure because you aren’t going to know whether it will suck you in and spit you out in a mortifying condition or cause you to hit the solid bottom. Accept what has been and hope in what is yet to be.

  • Move ahead and move on

Never let the past remind you that you were weak and broken. Rather, let it be a reminder that you fought that interior battle and have emerged triumphantly. The past is irreversible and unchangeable, so leave it be. Let the past follow you, but let the present live in you as you live in it, and let the future lead you. Move ahead and move on. Hurt can last only as long as you allow it to.

Some Passion Called “Writing”

“I realized that a pen in my hand sometimes serves me better than the tongue in my mouth.” — Me, Myself & I

When I was approximately three feet off the ground, I recall that I loved to flip through pages and inhale the musty aroma of disused books. It always left me in awe- how words could resonate so loudly in one’s head without even being physically spoken. There was something magical about the fluidity of the sentences, how one beautiful thought emerged from another, how people- though unreal- could be loved and hated. There was also this visualization thing. Books created the scenario in my head and the story would play out like I was in a theatre and the projector was my mind.

Well, that was it about reading. I spent an entire summer once reading around five-score books that spanned various genres. The power of the written word became more lucid to me with each page I turned. Then, one day I decided: I am going to be a writer.

It started off with me conjuring up a plot and characters. Wording the story was duck soup and my twelve-year-old mind considered it fine for a chapter to comprise of a meager 500 words. Later, when I re-read the story, I would go on to commend my efforts, but I knew that my penmanship was only in its embryonic stages.

Books like the Hush, Hush saga (Becca Fitzpatrick) and the Blue is for Nightmares series (Laurie Faria Stolarz) crossed my eyes and I devoted myself to reading these and oodles more just to delve into the world of fiction. But I was still discontented, because I wanted to be a part of a world of fictional characters that I could call my own.

After reading A Certain Slant of Light by Laura Whitcomb, I realized that imagination had its limits beyond the dome of the firmament.

Like an ardent devotee of art, I sat myself down, pen in hand and began crafting a dark fantasy story about a clan of vampires. It was undoubtedly stereotypical, but I could at least clap myself on the back for trying to be productive after letting my creativity hibernate for what seemed like a whole era. My endeavor was to hatch a novel (40,000 words), but I wound up with 28,000 give or take.

But that was all I needed to begin a wonderful journey of creativity and exploration of untrodden territory in my mind. Writing books and short stories has since become more than just a divertissement. It has evolved into a passion. Time saw my skills hone just as it sees the world go from glory to glory.

According to me, there is nothing more fulfilling than knowing you can touch someone with written, unspoken words.