। ॥ १ ॥
In plain words
Ichor runs down his temples; bees come crowding in. His beautiful trunk sways as he moves. Keeping the world safe is his mastery. His tusk gleams like a shaft. He is ferocious in breaking misfortune. He is Śiva's love pressed into a body. Vakratuṇḍa, the curved trunk: him I worship.
Close to the Sanskrit
Him whose temples have ichor flowing down them, whose swarm of bees comes crowding in, whose lovely trunk is in motion, who is expert in the protection of the world, whose shaft of tusk is gleaming, who is fierce in the breaking of calamity, who is a solid mass of Śiva's love — the curved-trunked one — I worship.