In plain words
The poet, to the Lord of Tirumāliruñcōlai: O you who made your cousins [the Pāṇḍavas] prosper and destroyed their enemies, the hundred, O my father of Tirumāliruñcōlai: saying today, saying tomorrow, through so many times and so many ages, all this while I went on caught in the snare [saṃsāra]. Now I will not let you go. My heart is drawn to you; you know it, do you not?