In plain words
Āṇṭāḷ, to Kāma: Kāmadēva, I adorned the street where you would come with fine white sand, bathed at the ford before the sky whitened with dawn, and fed the fire with twigs free of ants and even of thorns: labouring so, I keep my vow to you. Now fit to your bow arrows of flowers that spill honey, write on them the one name ‘the Ocean-coloured One’, and shoot me so that I strike home in the one target called ‘he who split open the bird’s beak’ [the demon Baka].