In plain words
The poet, of Śrīraṅgam: The town of the Lord [Rāma], who shot clay pellets at the hump of the hunchback [Mantharā], on the garland of whose hair the bees roam, so that it sank back in, and was glad at heart: it is Araṅgam alone, of lovely cool waters, where the crane eats a crab and walks off, the vāḷai fish leaps away, and the carp feed, keeping the blue lily as their cover.