Vaibhav Simha

Vaibhav Simha Poems

Of the seven colours adorning the rainbow,
All equally graceful, all with the same glow,
The riverine blue does mollify the earth
With streams and ponds in abundance—nothing in dearth.

Myriad times have I witnessed men, grandiose and bold,
Who assert bliss is but slumbering atop mountains of gold.
They rush in obscure hours and toil for wealth's accumulation,
But little do they realise that it results in sorrowful ruination.

Oh, my evanescent love, pray that the time of our abrupt separation does not come;
Pray that we live long in togetherness and intimacy superlative of our moments, perfectly done.
Let our hearts become one, and scintillating be our bond,
And facilitate us proclaim its sealing through this euphoric song.

Many have I beheld who accost the kind with scorn,
And well-nigh of them all do expiate less, for those kind and forlorn;
And amidst this eerie clutter, on the cliff, knelt a girl of heart, purest and out-of-sin,
Who faced the chaos with tears trickling down her chin.

It is depressing to witness a man mulcted of his self and succumbed to others' will
When neither has he lost his potential nor his potent standing.
Yet his ecstatic soul is constrained by earthly mortal thinking—
Of manacling free minds to the prevalent considerations still.

The winter bird sat in a stricken-want for the fire,
Its beak frozen, its heart cold, and yet it's a crier
Of the Heavenly Lord's thoughtful work that has made its living vile,
For he believes the Lord was testing him if he was loyal.

It's dark now, but you needn't have to worry
As the sky still has a million stars to carry.
In the nightly buzzes, remains the true beauty;
Behold! Our mother nature's divine dark entity!

There was a village, far beyond the waterfall.
Houses built on the wet but stable soil;
People do relax, but most of the time, they toil.
Children do enjoy, in the heavy but gentle rainfall.

I found myself no longer living,
But my heart was still beating.
My conscience has left me; my toil is lost,
And now in some paradise, I'm shielded from frost.

I had always wondered if bliss lay somewhere beyond,
For I'm desperate to form with it an everlasting bond.
Is it in being pleasureless or in being pandered?
So this was the question before an answer thundered!

Never has been the welkin insipid and void.
Ever involute and divine, the avatar of sangfroid—
Cerulean post dawn it is, Stygian past the serene dusk,
Like the deep sea, in whose darkness mosey the fulgent cusk.

Of all the plights that ensnared me, the Dungeon was the worst,
For so vile it was to rout those who to scale its walls durst.
Enchained was I within its darkness, with myriads along;
"Succumb, despair; turn glum, forbear! " was the fetters' song.

A medallion of glorious ages and past,
Like a Jolly Roger imprinted on the proud pirate ship's mast,
You repose, imposing the grandeur of the kingdom's visage:
Sole bearer of pride shall you be after the victorious war, amongst the wreckage.

Let the bride dress up in glee
And let the bridegroom smile free.
May the cupids dance in eye-catching sneer,
Hope their arrows strike their hearts near!

Now, I feel low
Among all those who can do more.
I still tried but couldn't beat them all.
I cried, cried till I saw the rising dawn

In the hot sun, the gypsy leaves to somewhere one has found peace,
In his search, he finds himself in the support of the stars and trees.
In the morning, he marks the trees, ensuring he never returns,
While in the night, he follows the stars in a trust it leads to the place he seeks.

In the hour when the world sleeps
And when the cold gust brings in the creeps.
When hardly had the sun peeked over the edge of the sky,
Wearing torn sweaters were six shadows not very high.

Does clothing make a man or does the colour of the skin?
Or is it the fame or the desire within?
No man has ever succeed with his self being fake
As your destiny lies in the mind which the god has perfectly made.

Oh, Lord! I thank you...
For the miracle you brought,
The dreams that rise and the hope that is absolute
That is within us, in the grace of your name!

The Best Poem Of Vaibhav Simha

The Spectrum Spirit

Of the seven colours adorning the rainbow,
All equally graceful, all with the same glow,
The riverine blue does mollify the earth
With streams and ponds in abundance—nothing in dearth.

The pacific zephyr runs and gushes down the flow
And ravishes those who amble by its bank, I trow!
Entraps them in its love, rejuvenates their lost goodness,
And, in the end, havens their troubled souls in hallowed fondness.

Then comes the essence of the emerald:
The tender rapture to the eyes in the viridity,
An insight into the ethos of the Oswald,
Where the rustling leaves in the breeze sing of amity!

The eye devours the scene of darkness and yearns for verdant lakes;
It feasts on the deific light that beams on the canopies, clad in delight.
An artist, a poet, a man of all, cannot help but know that it needs many takes
To paint its picture, in colours and words, before comes the twilight.

And here comes the twilight flaunting its amethyst gleam,
Which festoons the darkling land in the image of a dream.
All decrepit spirit ebbing away in its purplish deeps,
Bidding farewell to the sun which over the horizon peeps.

The chirping birds and buzzing bees all turn to home,
As the trees await their return on the burnished loam.
The welkin is overjoyed to welcome the retinue of the moon,
For in its twinkling is the power to destroy the sadness of the gloom.

Then glimmers the ruby diadem of the newborn king,
Who dispels the horror of despair and births new hope.
Oh, maidens and lads, quell thy sleep and rise to sing,
For it's the time to rejoice in bliss, not to despair and mope!

Once again revved up is the valley, fulgent in its orange cloak;
Verdant as always with breezes amok and the azure seizing the skies:
The painter-poet now paints, in words and colours, the rapture of the merry folk,
As they rush like shoals to witness the casting of the final dyes.

Curtains drawn! Now behold the golden, sunlit barley of the morn!
‘Fare thee well, oh nightly stars! ' cry the violets, ‘We take thy place while you're gone! '
And dotting this frame, the violets have become an enthralling feature,
But only after the rainbow streaks the sky completed is this picture of nature!

Vaibhav Simha Comments

Valsa George 02 May 2020

Recently I had the fortune to read the poems of a teenager which are much above his age and exceedingly high of a teenager. I believe he is a prodigy of a poet. Most of his poems show a maturity far beyond his age. His mastery of English language and range of vocabulary are truly amazing. He can travel far ahead than most of us in the arduous poetic journey! I wish him the very Best!

2 0 Reply
Harindhar Reddy 27 April 2020

Vaibhav is a good poet with amazing power on vocabulary which can be witnessed in his poetry. He too young in the ensuing time he would master rhyme and how to fine-tuning his powerful feelings. For a youngster of his age he seems to be a great poet in making. Hope he grows to a shining with his poetry. Best of luck and a thumbs up to the poet!

1 0 Reply
Me Poet Yeps Poet 22 April 2020

One of the most delightful poems ever composed by a youthful poet @16 by Vaibhav Simha...It appears you have been trained in the use of abstract words also you explain so diligently Hope all PH will read you my dear a poet, not in the budding but already flowered fully Great poet Vaibhav Now do comment on Moms Smiles.... 399/500 POEM OF mine

1 0 Reply
Bonaventure Onuabuchi 13 April 2019

You are really talented

1 0 Reply
Rohit.patil 22 December 2017

Nice poems

1 0 Reply

Vaibhav Simha Quotes

Be sorry for who sacrificed for you and also for those who sacrificed because of you.

Poetry thrives in the narrowest and the shallowest of minds to widen and deepen them. It begins as trickling dew that culminates by growing into a river.

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