282 ciṟuviralkal̤ taṭavip parimāṟac * cĕṅkaṇ koṭac cĕyya vāy kŏppal̤ippa *
kuṟuvĕyarp puruvam kūṭalippak * kovintaṉ kuzhalkŏṭu ūtiṉa potu **
paṟavaiyiṉ kaṇaṅkal̤ kūṭu tuṟantu * vantu cūzhntu paṭukāṭu kiṭappak *
kaṟavaiyiṉ kaṇaṅkal̤ kāl parappiṭṭuk * kavizhntu iṟaṅkic cĕvi āṭṭakillāve (8)
Simple Translation
282. When Govindan plays the flute
holding it in his small fingers,
as his beautiful eyes close, his red cheeks puff out
and his brow sweats with small drops of water,
flocks of birds leave their nests,
come and surround him like uprooted forests.
Herds of cattle leave the forest
where they graze, come near Govindan,
and lie down spreading their legs apart.
They bend their heads, listening to the music of the flute
and move their ears as if they are dancing.