Beauty: A New Definition For generations the wise ones have said That beauty is in the eye of the beholder But time passes, generations evolve Some simple, some a lot bolder Some proverbs die Some new are born Left to all to choose Which are progress, which are scorn Perhaps a similar time has come To give beauty a new definition Leaving the beholder out & say Beauty is in the heart of the pious one! Why the Hate? I ask a stranger how s/he was born? From a mother's womb they say. Just like I once was So why the hate? I ask a baby what religion is. To the best of my ability to decipher baby talk, s/he appears not to know. Just like when I was a baby, blissfully unaware of grown-up talk. So why the hate? I ask a stranger how s/he communicates? With a tongue just like mine, they say. The birthplace of every language, I think. So why the hate? I once spilled paint on my arm. A palette of various colors made habitats on my skin before leaving during my next shower. Yet my heart, personality & identity remained the same throughout. So why the hate? I try to form a collective hypothesis of my conversations: We're all born in the same way & die someday. Skin color & religion prove to be highly incompetent to help a heartbeat, lungs breathe & brain cells grow. So why the hate? Beyond the Obvious How the naive think What abuse means Perhaps some blue bruises And a shattered spleen Such evidence & signs Are no doubt a fear But there is no value Of an isolate tear? Everyone sees the obvious Without a look inside Curse this bloody flesh that makes The wounded heart hide! Playing Along after Leonard Cohen's "Waiting for the Miracle" When the heart drowns in total despair I soothe it by telling tall tales Of an intoxication known as hope A miracle is coming, says the heart The mind just plays along I dance in the name of faith Even when my feet are numb Lest I reveal the inner abyss A miracle is coming, says the soul The body just plays along Stay in the slaughterhouse So, my wounds can blend in Lie in the rain so tears seem small A miracle is coming, say the tears The eyes just play along So far not a sign Not even a mere shadow Or the calm before the storm A miracle is coming, I say The miracle just plays along Bio: Neel Trivedi is a writer, editor and artist and in the advertising business in Dallas, TX. He was a Pushcart Nominee for 2020 and has been published in several online magazines as well as several print anthologies. He can be reached on Twitter @Neelt2001.