। ॥ २० ॥
In plain words
It never stops. It wanders the jungle of moha, dances on the breast-peaks of young women, scrambles along the branches of every hope I have — one instant here, the next anywhere, free as it likes, in all directions at once. Skull-bearer, beggar-lord: this monkey is my heart, and it will not sit still for a breath. Tie it tight with bhakti, Śiva, and make it answer to you — you who are already everywhere it could run.
Close to the Sanskrit
Always it roams in the forest of delusion; on the breast-mountain of young women it dances; on the branches of hope it rambles — suddenly, at will, on every side. O Kapālin, O mendicant, this monkey that is my heart, utterly unsteady — having bound it firmly with devotion, O Śiva, make it subject to you, O all-pervading one.