In plain words
The poet, to the Lord: O you whose foot smashed the cart-demon! O Lord, who danced on the strong neck of the serpent that danced in anger in the pool whose water was mixed with poison! O you whose hand ever holds the conch! O Kaṇṇaṉ, though I think every day on your red feet, why is it that you have not truly made me one who has reached your home, the highest heaven?