In plain words
The poet, longing for Vēṅkaṭam: At the long gateway of the Vaikuṇṭha on earth [the temple on Vēṅkaṭam], which even Śiva of the braided matted hair, Brahmā and Indra, jostling one another, find hard to enter, may I become one who is granted to go in with his close attendants, holding the golden bowl into which the King of Vēṅkaṭam spits, he whose blazing discus is like lightning bent into a ring.