What Is Beauty? Poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar

Flatten cheeks, sunken breasts,
Thin plait, muscle-less waist,
Neither modern, nor of fashion in posture,
None of which is distinct for beauty.
With them she stirs me rather than any.
No one is better than she to me.
Coyness, swiftness and smartness
And her formidable clan are her assets.
Uneven lips, crowded little teeth,
Deep seated eyes, manly nose:
Everything to me is voluptuous.
None endeared as she did;
None I endeared as much;
None she had maddened that much;
None she is fonder of than me.
Saturday and Sunday are black days
As we miss the presence of the
Other, and I curse all holidays.
Ethical or not, I am at her feet;
She revived in me my youth
And who herself retained her youth.
06.04.99, Plakkad