A. Ayyappan

Spread the golden wings and plant rosette in streets
Fragrance made the streets as an oasis
Roam, sits, and made it as a bed
The seventh heaven's bed, o bed! o bed!
Delicious bed, love, poem and potation
Each love each other. someone called
Him mad, but not, the icon of artistry.
Well known the touching poems
And bohemian life style,
Slept on shop's verandas and wrote
Destitution and insecurity made him a poet
And that passionate adherence of left.
Body found abandoned in the streets
Gone the soul gone to the poet's corner of heaven
And shakes waits, holding that brocade shall
He still writes his incomplete poem at the corner.
Made his coffin before the death,
And death is the mother of beauty