In plain words
The poet, of what his eyes have seen: He stands on the great hill of northern Vēṅkaṭam, where the monkeys leap, so that the nityasūris may worship him with flowers; he lies in Araṅgam on the serpent, his sweet couch. Does not the sweet life in this servant's heart rest upon his cloth, coloured like the evening sky, and above it upon the lovely navel, matchless, that brought forth Brahmā?