In plain words
The poet, waking the Lord: The sun’s bright rays have spread through every quarter around; the glittering light of the crowded stars has shrunk, and this cool moon too has paled, his spreading light gone. The wide darkness has gone. Here the wind of daybreak blows, after tearing open the sheaths of the areca palms in the green groves so that their rich spathes give off their scent. O you who hold in your lovely great hand the discus [Sudarśana] that blazes with mighty light: Lord of Araṅgam, in grace, rise from your bed.