BACHELOR
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