In plain words
The poet, to the Lord of Araṅgam: O you who dwell in the great city of Araṅgam! Even if men live out the hundred years the Veda allows them, half of it passes in sleep. Of what remains, fifteen years go in ignorant infancy and boyhood, and then comes youth, an age not fit to think of; and the rest is disease, the hunger of the senses, old age and grief. So I do not want birth.