In plain words
The poet, longing for Vēṅkaṭam: O Tirumāl, Lord of Śrī, who end the cruel bonds of deeds that spring from sin! O Great One, whose love for those who come to you knows no bounds! O Lord of Vēṅkaṭam! May I lie as the step at the doorway of your temple, over which your servants, the gods and the heavenly maidens ceaselessly pass, and see your coral lips.