Old odd man in an orange dress,
Looks thin as a sweetened twig,
He has a stick for his third leg,
But his words are always sweet peg.
He lives in orikkai,the land of bliss,
His principles if missed,
brings lots of worst twists.
Three line of ashes in his forehead,
Saves you the muddlehead.
A magnet for a pair of eyes,
Makes you visit him twice, thrice.
Whatever be around your life’s corner,
Trust and belief in him brings you honour.
Even at the times of dreams,
I seek his midas touch
For I have none other than him
To sail me and make me win.
I surrendered myself to him
He is all in my soul’s inn.
Call him Shankara, Chandrasekara , Swaminatha or any
He scums or plunges to help without a penny.