கருமுதல் தொடங்கிப் பெருநாள் எல்லாம்காமம் வெகுளி கழிபெரும் பொய்யெனுந்தூய்மையில் குப்பை தொலைவின்றிக் கிடந்ததைஅரிதின் இகழ்ந்து போக்கிப் பொருதிறல்மையிருள் நிறத்து மதனுடை அடுசினத்தைவகைக் கடாவும் யாப்பவிழ்த் தகற்றிஅன்புகொடு மெழுகி அருள்விளக் கேற்றித்துன்ப இருளைத் துரந்து முன்புறம்மெய்யெனும் விதானம் விரித்து நொய்யகீழ்மையில் தொடர்ந்து கிடந்தஎன் சிந்தைப்பாழறை உனக்குப் பள்ளியறை யாக்கிச்சிந்தைத் தாமரைச் செழுமலர்ப் பூந்தவிசெந்தைநீ இருக்க இட்டனன் இந்தநெடுநில வளாகமும் அடுகதிர் வானமும்அடையப் பரந்த ஆதிவெள் ளத்துநுரையெனச் சிதறி இருசுடர் மிதப்பவரைபறித் தியங்கும் மாருதம் கடுப்பமாலும் பிரமனும் முதலிய வானவர்காலம் இதுவெனக் கலங்கா நின்றுழிமற்றவர் உய்யப் பற்றிய புணையாய்மிகநனி மிதந்த புகலி நாயகஅருள்நனி சுரக்கும் பிரளய விடங்கநின்செல்வச் சிலம்பு மெல்லென மிழற்றஅமையாக் காட்சி இமையக்கொழுந்தையும் உடனே கொண்டிங்கெழுந்தரு ளத்தகும் எம்பெரு மானே.
In plain words
From the womb onward, through all my long days, lust, anger and towering falsehood lay there, an unclean heap of refuse that never came to an end. With great effort I scorned it and swept it away. The five kinds of male buffalo as well, strong to fight, black as thick darkness, in rut and in killing fury, I untied from their tethers and drove off. I smeared the floor clean with love, lit the lamp of grace, and chased away the darkness of suffering. In front I spread the canopy called truth. The ruined room of my mind, which had lain on and on in mean lowliness, I made into a bedchamber for you. The lotus of my mind, a seat of rich bloom, I have laid out for you to sit on, my father. When the primal flood spread over all of this wide earth and the sky of burning rays, when the two lights were scattered like foam and floated, when the wind that tears up mountains as it moves was raging, Viṣṇu and Brahmā and the other gods stood bewildered, crying, "This is the time." Then Pukali floated high, so very high, the raft they seized so that they might live. O Lord of Pukali, O Viṭaṅka of the deluge, welling with grace: with your rich anklets softly tinkling, bring with you the shoot of the Himalaya too, a sight one never tires of, and graciously come here. It is fitting, our great Lord.
Line by line
Beginning from the womb, through all the long days, called lust, anger and exceedingly great falsehood, the unclean rubbish that lay there without end, scorning it with difficulty, I removed it; of fighting strength, of the colour of black darkness, in rut, of killing fury, the five kinds of male buffalo too, untying their tethers, I drove away; smearing the floor with love, lighting the lamp of grace, driving off the darkness of suffering, in front spreading the canopy called truth; lowly, the ruined room of my mind, which lay continuing in baseness, ruined room: making it a bedchamber for you, the lotus of the mind, a flower seat of rich bloom, for you, my father, to sit, I have laid; this expanse of the long earth and the sky of burning rays, in the primal flood that spread over all, scattered like foam, the two lights floating, the wind that moves tearing up mountains raging, Māl and Piramaṉ and the other gods saying, This is the time, while they stood bewildered, as the raft they seized so that they might survive, O Lord of Pukali, which floated very high indeed, O Viṭaṅka of the deluge who wells with grace abundantly, your rich anklets softly tinkling, the sight one never has enough of, the Himalaya's shoot too, bringing with you, here to rise and graciously come is fitting, O our great Lord.