In plain words
The poet, of the Lord: Our father, who conquered and crushed the seven bulls, filled to the brim the mouth of the skull that vultures settle on to feed, with bright blood drawn from his lovely bud-like hand, and so freed the one of fiery form who rides the bull [Śiva] from the curse laid on him [by Brahmā]. To tell what was seen that day [the skull falling from his hand] would be a story as long as the Bhārata.