In plain words
The poet, surrendering to the Lord of Viṟṟuvakkōṭu: O Lord of Viṟṟuvakkōṭu, ringed by wide fields to which the fish [of the sea] look as their refuge! Even if you do not look towards me with grace, I have no refuge but you. Even if the garlanded king does not protect his subjects and brings them every kind of affliction, they live looking to his sceptre: I am like them.