In plain words
Āṇṭāḷ, to the cuckoo: Young cuckoo, sleeping in a lovely spot in the grove of clustered blossoms: Hṛṣīkēśa [who steals the senses of those who see him], whom the gods in every quarter bow to and praise, torments me by keeping away, and I have lost the beauty of my red lips with their smile white as pearls, and of my breasts. If you can call him, the cause of my life, to come, I have nothing to give you in return but to lay my head at your feet for all my days.