In plain words
The poet, to the Lord of Araṅgam: O Kaṇṇaṉ, whose form is like a mass of rain-clouds, lying within Tiruvaraṅgam, the ornament of this world, with its groves where the bees swirl with a loud hum: I, the thief among men, who do not know even one way of seeing you, have come and stand here, a headstrong fool who will not let go. A fool I am, a fool!