What I know of Kamla Das

My Grandmother's House

There is a house now far away where once
I received love. That woman died,
The house withdrew into silence, snakes moved
Among books.

I was then too young
To read, and, my blood turned cold like the moon.
How often I think of going
There, to peer through blind eyes of windows or
Just listen to the frozen air,
Or in wild despair, pick an armful of
Darkness to bring it here to lie
Behind my bedroom door like a broodingDog.

You cannot believe, darling
Can you, that I lived in such a house and
Was proud, and loved...
I who have lost
My way and beg now at strangers' doors to
Receive love, at least in small change?

(The poem for some reason reminds me of The Dark Holds No Terror by Shashi Deshpande)