In plain words
The poet, to the Lord: O Lord with the hue of the rain-cloud, who swallowed the seven worlds [at the deluge] and once lay alone on a banyan leaf: the demoness [Pūtanā] who came as a mother and gave you her breast never rose again. How then can the peerless sages call it true, that the cowherd mother [Yaśōdā] of the wide, vying eyes, melting with love for you, gave you her breast?