In plain words
Āṇṭāḷ, to the clouds: Clouds bound to be merciful: the radiance of my body, its colour, my bangles, my heart and my sleep, all these, because of my wretched state, have disregarded me and gone, leaving me broken, alas. Can I keep my life by singing the auspicious qualities of my Gōvinda of Vēṅkaṭam, with its cool cascades?