THE QUAIL

It is July, July again!
The mangy dog
Runs away from the meadow.
The skies scatter hell down below;
The cicada sings from the sheaves of grain
For the love-struck gleaner.
The hunter stops, the gun goes off,
Feathers flutter and fall;
Blood leads the way to the remains.
Men! May your hands be mangled,
Don’t play around with life!

Oğuz Tansel
Translated by Nilűfer Mizanoğlu Reddy
Yasakmeyve Journal, September – October, 2008, Volume: 6, No: 24, p.62.