In plain words
The poet, to the Lord of Araṅgam: Keep me in your heart, mark it, when I come to die, O you who bear the conch with the discus. The men of Yama will stand, their tongues curled in rage, intending to inflict many punishments on me, and as they drag me off you are skilled in a māyā of keeping hidden, so that my mind cannot reach you at all. So, while my senses are clear, I have told you this, O you who sleep on the serpent couch in Araṅgam.