Between the cherry-ripe daughter’s bare
shoulders, and the mother’s fixed stare,
a father sat on an unsure seat,
like a felt hat on a dinner mat.
In her eyes, the squared signs
of anatomical algebra,
and the geometry of circling lines
in spider cups of a satin bra,
mingled to mould the mattrix
of a new style mathematics.
Flavoured tea and silverware
pastries sliced with particular care,
had all the familiar decor
of an amiable armoured corps!
The bachelor made his deft detour
and came to a halt, feeling
his fingers on the family vault,
and in its golden yellow colour
he was no longer a bachelor.
–R. RABINDRANATH MENON