Nights with my grandma

There is a small village,

And a home  that sprawls across the wilderness,
Unknown to the world.

THAT is my ancestral home.

The light that breaks darkness

Barely reached the corners,

And the windows could seal off light!

Nights were the darkest there.

THERE, my grandma treaded with soft steps,

Spreading the warmth of her affection.

Every night I would fondly run into her room,

Dimly lit by a small lamp.

 I jumped into her bed, demanding a story.

Her warmth filled the room,

As she embraced me 

And took me into the world of folklore, myths and epics,

Feeding my young mind with colours and dreams.

All so beautifully woven,

In the dark canvas of my grandma’s room.