Poems from Neel Trivedi from Fevers of the Mind & Avalanches in Poetry Anthologies

white and yellow flower in bloom
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.

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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