In plain words
Dēvakī, lamenting to Kaṇṇaṉ: Alas, you sucked at the raging, poison-filled breast of the ogress [Pūtanā] whose heart was set on treachery, till she withered, her sinews and veins standing out, scorched and falling apart; and by your grace you grew. O dark cloud who took away Kaṃsa's days, O my lord! Bearing my breasts in vain, I have become the lowest of the low; with no refuge besides you, I have only kept myself alive. How fitting: you have got yourself a good mother!