In plain words
The poet, longing for Śrīraṅgam: Māl, who loves his own, who tore open the mouth of the horse [the demon Kēśi] and rejoiced; the one with the hue of the sea; my own Kaṇṇaṉ, easy for me to reach; the bull among the herdsmen, who that day lifted the mighty hill [Gōvardhana] and kept the cows safe; the lord of the eternal attendants [nityasūris]; as joyous as the verse of lovely Tamil and as that Sanskrit [the Rāmāyaṇa]; the King who lies on the serpent bed in Araṅgam, where those who have cut off all attachment dwell: when will the day come, I wonder, when I praise him till my tongue is scarred, and my hands strew freshly plucked flowers and fold in worship?