வசையில் காட்சி இசைநனி விளங்கமுன்னாள் நிகழ்ந்த பன்னீ ருகத்துவேறுவேறு பெயரின் ஊறின் றியன்றமையறு சிறப்பின் தெய்வத் தன்மைப்புகலி நாயக இகல்விடைப் பாகஅமைநாண் மென்தோள் உமையாள் கொழுநகுன்று குனிவித்து வன்தோள் அவுணர்மூவெயில் எரித்த சேவகத் தேவஇளநிலா முகிழ்க்கும் வளர்சடைக் கடவுள்நின்நெற்றியில் சிறந்த ஒற்றை நாட்டத்துக்காமனை விழித்த மாமுது தலைவவானவர் அறியா ஆதி யானேகல்லா மனத்துப் புல்லறிவு தொடரமறந்து நோக்கும் வெறுந்தண்நாட் டத்துக்காண்தொறும் காண்தொறும் எல்லாம் யாண்டையாயினும் பிறவும் என்னதும் பிறரதும்ஆவன பலவும் அழிவன பலவும்போவதும் வருவதும் நிகழ்வதும் ஆகித்தெண்ணீர் ஞாலத்துத் திரண்ட மணலினும்எண்ணில் கோடி எனைப்பல வாகிஇல்லன உளவாய் உள்ளன காணாப்பன்னாள் இருள்வயிற் பட்டேன் அன்னதும்அன்ன தாதலின் அடுக்கும் அதென்னெனின்கட்புலன் தெரியாது கொட்புறும் ஒருவற்குக்குழிவழி யாகி வழிகுழி யாகிஒழிவின் றொன்றின் ஒன்றுதடு மாறவந்தாற் போல வந்த தெந்தைநின்திருவருள் நாட்டம் கருணையின் பெறலும்யாவையும் எனக்குப் பொய்யெனத் தோன்றிமேவரும் நீயே மெய்யெனத் தோன்றினைஓவியப் புலவன் சாயல்பெற எழுதியசிற்ப விகற்பம் எல்லாம் ஒன்றித்தவிராது தடவினர் தமக்குச்சுவராய்த் தோன்றுங் துணிவுபோன் றனவே.
In plain words
O Lord of Pukali, of blameless sight, of stainless excellence and divine nature, which in the twelve ages of former days was formed without harm under different and different names, so that its fame shone greatly! O rider of the fierce bull! O husband of Umā, whose soft shoulders put the bamboo to shame! O valiant god who bent the mountain and burned the three forts of the strong-shouldered demons! O god of the growing matted hair where the young moonlight buds! O great and ancient chief who glared at Kāma with the single eye that excels on your forehead! O first one, whom the gods do not know! The mean knowledge of an unlearned mind pursued me, and with an empty, dull gaze I looked about, forgetting. Each time I saw, each time I saw, all things, wherever they might be, others too, mine and other people's, many that come to be and many that perish, became what goes and what comes and what happens. They became more than the sand heaped up in this world of clear waters, numberless crores, so very many. What is not seemed to be, and what is I did not see. For many days I lay fallen in darkness. That darkness too was of the same passing kind, as fits. If you ask how: as it comes to a man whose eyesight fails and whose head whirls, the pit becoming the path and the path becoming the pit, one thing ceaselessly confused with another, just so it came to me. My father, when through your compassion I received the gaze of your sacred grace, all things appeared to me as false, and you, so hard to attain, appeared as the truth itself. It was like the certainty of those who run their hands over a painting without stopping: all the varied artistry that the painter drew to catch the likeness merges into one, and appears to them as a wall.
Line by line
Of blameless sight, so that its fame shines greatly, in the twelve ages that passed in former days, formed without harm under different, different names, of stainless excellence, of divine nature, O Lord of Pukali; O rider of the fierce bull; O husband of Umā whose soft shoulders shame the bamboo; bending the mountain, of the strong-shouldered demons the three forts burning, O valiant god; O god of the growing matted hair where young moonlight buds; your with the single eye excelling on your forehead O great ancient chief who glared at Kāma; O first one whom the gods do not know; the mean knowledge of an unlearned mind pursuing, with the empty, dull gaze that looks forgetting, each time I saw, each time I saw, all things, wherever it might be, others too, mine and others', many that come to be and many that perish, becoming what goes and what comes and what happens, more than the sand heaped in the world of clear waters, numberless crores, becoming so very many, what is not becoming what is, not seeing what is, for many days I fell into darkness. That too being of that same kind, fits. If you ask how: for one whose eyesight fails and who whirls about, the pit becoming the path, the path becoming the pit, ceaselessly one being confused with another, as it came, so it came. My father, your sacred grace-gaze, on receiving it through compassion, all things appeared to me as false; you, hard to attain, appeared as the truth itself, as the painter-artist drew to catch the likeness, all the varieties of artistry, merging into one, to those who touched without stopping like the certainty with which it appears as a wall, indeed.