Receding Footsteps

I did not write about him,
I wrote him.

Into ancient poems and yellowing letters,
Into blooming roses and winding streams,
Into the good and evil of life.
I wrote him into ballads and sonnets,
Into the death and decay of time.
As I held his hand through the labyrinth of life,
I wrote him into the caress of a thousand winds,
Into the embrace of unending thoughts.
I wrote him into love and everlasting sorrow,
I wrote him until he said goodbye.
I wrote him, till the echo of his footsteps receded,
And he was a blur on the horizon,
I wrote him,
Till there was no more of him to write…..
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Bindu Sharma

Bindu Sharma teaches Biology but reading and writing has always been her passion. She is 58 years old.

Technology today offers so many opportunities, which she never had when she was younger. She is really glad to read other people's work and offer hers now.