Butterfly Poem by Gangadharan nair Pulingat..


Rating: 4.7

The wings of the butterflies in beautiful color

Children likes them so much as well as the grown ups
Their flying, their companions, their selection of flowers
All are beautiful to observe as a child's plays
They comes in groups and pairs and flies quite often
The rare scenery which we likes to see
We forget the tensions of life and also pains
That makes us the life miserable and conditioned
The bright, dim and and different colors they looks
More beautiful to see in dawn and near dusk
The nature's talent of creation is so precious
No one can question its total perfection
Alas! its longevity is so small and limited
The death is imminent only a full day
Still it performs well in its glory and pride
Exhibiting the talents throughout the life span
Though short and limited in a brief period
Butterflies are the wonders of world and nature
Just like the rainbows in the open sky we see.

Butterflies are very beautiful and happy to see them. It is a rare gift of creativity of nature I think.
Clarence Prince 12 May 2015

And for nature and its beauty we should glorify the Creator God, the unseen Master! Well done, Gangadharan!

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Yes its true, watching butterflies makes the heart cool and forget the sorrows.

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Dr Antony Theodore 28 August 2015

dawn and dusk. how lovely are the butterflies. we forget all our worries. nice ideas dear poet. thank you for allowing me to read your poems

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Gangadharan Nair Pulingat 23 September 2015

Sir, Thanks

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Unnikrishnan E S 23 May 2016

Hi Gangadharan Nair, Tagore has written, Butterflies have not years but days to live, Still still have time enough! Your lovely poem reminded me of the small poem by Tagore. Thank you.

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Lodigiana Poetess 12 January 2020

A lovely reminder of the beauty of nature Gangadharan and beauty translates in any language.Lodigiana xx

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Rupert Hentzau 28 October 2017

Sir, I wish you would write in your native language. The English is quite stilted and difficult to read. There is a beauty about butterflies, I admit, but I don't see it in your poem. The butterfuly, the cabbage white, His honest idiocy of flight, Will never now, it is too late, Master the art of flying straight, Yet who knows so well as I, He has a just sense of how not to fly. Even the acrobatic swift Has not his flying-crooked gift. Robert Graves

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Queeny Gona 30 May 2017

The joy in playing with those short lived butterflies is inexplicable. The ultimate pleasure drawn in catching them and playing with them is recalled. Beautiful read Sir!

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Butterflies short lived beauty of creation.A nice work.

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Rose Kanana 16 September 2016

a beautiful poem symbolized by a beautiful butterfly- i like it

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