In plain words
The poet, to the Lord of Araṅgam: There is no purity at all in my mind, not one sweet word on my lips; in anger I look at people with hatred and hurl fiery abuse at them for no reason. O you who wear the garland of tulasi, fresh as in its own field, O Lord of Tiruvaraṅgam ringed by the Poṉṉi, my King who holds me as your servant: tell me, what refuge is there for me now?