In plain words
The poet, turning from the worldly to the Lord: I do not mingle with the people of the earth who are slaves to the cruel, handsome bow of Māra [the god of love]. I am mad for Araṅgaṉ, whose chest wears a necklace of pearls: the boundless one, Nārāyaṇa, the good abode that souls attain, who saves his own from falling into hell.