In plain words
The poet, to his heart: In the middle of the Kāviri, holier than the Gaṅgā, within Araṅgam of the flowering groves where her swelling waters spread and flow, our Māl who loves his own, the Lord of all, the Ruler of all, has lain in a posture nothing can match. Having seen it, how can I forget it and live? Helpless am I, helpless!