In plain words
The poet, waking the Lord: Are these the gods of heaven, with their retinues? Are these the sages of hard penance, and the Maruts? Is this Indra, come himself with his elephant? My Lord, at the gate of your temple the fair Gandharvas press close, the Vidyādharas push, and the Yakṣas too stand dazed, waiting to worship your holy feet; there is no room left in the sky or on the earth. Is this how it is? Lord of Araṅgam, in grace, rise from your bed.