wordstalker.blogspot.com

wordstalker

Language is the man himself. Sunday, December 9, 2012. I am being chased by butterflies. The nights are infested with moths, dragonflies and beautiful butterflies. The sleep was like a finely composed photograph. I always love to take photos with some greenery in them. In this frame, there is a branch of a small tree with yellow green leaves, flowers and butterflies and I love them usually. But in here they look absolutely mean, looking straight at m. The colors I took them for my poems? A thought, memory.

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wordstalker | wordstalker.blogspot.com Reviews

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Language is the man himself. Sunday, December 9, 2012. I am being chased by butterflies. The nights are infested with moths, dragonflies and beautiful butterflies. The sleep was like a finely composed photograph. I always love to take photos with some greenery in them. In this frame, there is a branch of a small tree with yellow green leaves, flowers and butterflies and I love them usually. But in here they look absolutely mean, looking straight at m. The colors I took them for my poems? A thought, memory.

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wordstalker | wordstalker.blogspot.com Reviews

https://wordstalker.blogspot.com

Language is the man himself. Sunday, December 9, 2012. I am being chased by butterflies. The nights are infested with moths, dragonflies and beautiful butterflies. The sleep was like a finely composed photograph. I always love to take photos with some greenery in them. In this frame, there is a branch of a small tree with yellow green leaves, flowers and butterflies and I love them usually. But in here they look absolutely mean, looking straight at m. The colors I took them for my poems? A thought, memory.

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wordstalker.blogspot.com

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wordstalker: Dec 9, 2012

http://www.wordstalker.blogspot.com/2012_12_09_archive.html

Language is the man himself. Sunday, December 9, 2012. I am being chased by butterflies. The nights are infested with moths, dragonflies and beautiful butterflies. The sleep was like a finely composed photograph. I always love to take photos with some greenery in them. In this frame, there is a branch of a small tree with yellow green leaves, flowers and butterflies and I love them usually. But in here they look absolutely mean, looking straight at m. The colors I took them for my poems?

2

wordstalker: Aug 6, 2012

http://www.wordstalker.blogspot.com/2012_08_06_archive.html

Language is the man himself. Monday, August 6, 2012. Posted by Junaith Rahman ജുനൈദ്. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Junaith Rahman ജുനൈദ്. Cochin, Keralam, India. Poetry Editor at Rithupoetry.com. View my complete profile.

3

wordstalker: Jul 11, 2012

http://www.wordstalker.blogspot.com/2012_07_11_archive.html

Language is the man himself. Wednesday, July 11, 2012. Posted by Junaith Rahman ജുനൈദ്. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Junaith Rahman ജുനൈദ്. Cochin, Keralam, India. Poetry Editor at Rithupoetry.com. View my complete profile.

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wordstalker: Jun 2, 2011

http://www.wordstalker.blogspot.com/2011_06_02_archive.html

Language is the man himself. Thursday, June 2, 2011. A bed of emerald. Posted by Junaith Rahman ജുനൈദ്. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Dry land to A bed of emerald -Monsoon Dry branc. Junaith Rahman ജുനൈദ്. Cochin, Keralam, India. Poetry Editor at Rithupoetry.com. View my complete profile.

5

wordstalker: butterflies' war

http://www.wordstalker.blogspot.com/2012/12/butterflies-war.html

Language is the man himself. Sunday, December 9, 2012. I am being chased by butterflies. The nights are infested with moths, dragonflies and beautiful butterflies. The sleep was like a finely composed photograph. I always love to take photos with some greenery in them. In this frame, there is a branch of a small tree with yellow green leaves, flowers and butterflies and I love them usually. But in here they look absolutely mean, looking straight at m. The colors I took them for my poems?

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Language is the man himself. Sunday, December 9, 2012. I am being chased by butterflies. The nights are infested with moths, dragonflies and beautiful butterflies. The sleep was like a finely composed photograph. I always love to take photos with some greenery in them. In this frame, there is a branch of a small tree with yellow green leaves, flowers and butterflies and I love them usually. But in here they look absolutely mean, looking straight at m. The colors I took them for my poems? A thought, memory.

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