। ॥
In plain words
O Mother, beloved of the Lord of the single mango tree, I bow to the beauty of the flood of your soft smile. When the foe of the cities begins to embrace you, it rises eagerly before him and in that moment makes him think of the heavenly river, so that your lips tremble, your brows knit and your face bends down.
Word for word
Mounted eagerly in front of Pura's foe at the embrace-beginning, which your, Mother, approaches heavenly-river-suspicion-making at that moment; the lips makes tremble, the brows makes crooked, makes bend the face; that I salute, soft-smile-flood-beauty, Ekāmranātha's beloved.