Sometimes, I wish I was like her. I wish I had her valor, her finesse in writing and her capacity to emote and feel love. But then I remember how she died -- betrayed and unhappy! I wonder if she was ever happy. I think of all the poems that she wrote for herself that we never got to read.
Kamala Das, I want to dig deep in your heart and live in there for a few days, hiding beneath your poise and feeling nothing but fervent love. Burry your fragile self somewhere, and up hold the title of the brave lady people have adorned you with; otherwise, your soul won't endure the two of us.