In plain words
The poet, of Tirukkōṭṭiyūr: At Tirukkōṭṭiyūr docile swans, white as the conch that rests in the hand of him whose soft couch is the serpent, spread out in rows and flocks and perch on the red lotuses in its fields; and those born into the human race [a birth hard to gain] who do not take the Destroyer of hell on their tongues and call him: what sin, I wonder, did the water they drink and the clothes they wear commit?