O resplendent cuckoo! Yearning to unite with Emperumān, who reposes on Thiruppārkadal—the ocean of milk stirred by tumultuous waves—my fervent heart swells with rapture, as my robust bosom melts away my life in blissful perplexity. What benefit lies for you in concealment? Should you sing in such a manner that Emperumān, whose divine hands gracefully wield the celestial disc, conch, and mace, is compelled to grace this vicinity, then verily, you would have accomplished a most exalted act.