। ॥ ६४ ॥
In plain words
Kicking Death in the chest. Grinding down the hard-bodied demon Apasmāra. Roaming the mountains. Scraping against crown after crown as the gods crowd in to bow. How is any of this fit work for your two soft feet? Śambhu — here are jewelled sandals made of my mind. Walk in them. Always.
Close to the Sanskrit
The striking of the chest of Death, the crushing of the hard demon Apasmāra, the roaming over mountains, the chafing against the crowns on the heads of bowing gods — this work, how is it at all fitting for your tender pair of feet? O Śambhu, always accept the strolling in the jewelled sandals that are my mind.