(i)
Under condensed stars of light
spraying a moon-lit night,
all guests grow into birds.
The high-pitched party
explodes the sun to shine
brighter than a mid-morning ray,
its floating shards
twinkling more than stars
ever seen in Venus.
Not only do guests
sip their cocktails
but also sharp showers
of light in one gulp
of a million stars blown out
into the largest sea of light.
(ii)
Bounce on, bounce on
O snow-of-snow splash
gutturally blown out
in a single voice of dazzling light.
The voice echoes Mars.
The voice regurgitates Jupiter?
Maybe, the bright silver devours
gold spitting out Mercury.
All is light like an owl's voice
with a tint of a cuckoo's.
The sparrow hawk chips in a shade.
All is light like a coo wearing
the dress of a jay, the dove
joining the cocktail of voices, as pigeons
and snipes beat their own drums
of voices. Thunder too says
"it's mine" as gongs boo thunder
to raise their chest-beating voices.
(iii)
After the party scientists
and journalists shout out in a voice
that never swells into
the sculptor of its sound.
The orator cutting air
with a warbler's mouth can
be pasted the voice
of a golden-crowned kinglet.
The grouse too stands
on the pulpit
of the pigeon. The boulder drops
on a leathered hole
to shoot out a thunderstorm's voice.
Let's build a voice's technique
of brotherly birds
into‘'vibraphonics", the new art
of bringing Hitler to the podium,
when a politician yet unborn
or one born and reborn
groans and howls on stage he's alive
dressed in his own sea-sizzling
and jack-saw-on-wood voice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem