Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Salman Masalha

THE PARTRIDGE TAIL

1.
A deserted homeland on my lips.
Shaking off its shoulders
grains of wheat
that were caught up in the hair.

2.
Among the olive groves
the peasant draws memory’s furrows
and forgets all about the birds of the wilderness
coveting his seeds.

3.
Upon the stone palms
the morning clouds are dripping,
pressed by the hills
from all sides.

4.
The hunter
fills up his bag with rags
and sticks a partridge tail on top
for people to acknowledge
his hunting skills.

    

THE PARTRIDGE TAIL

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THE PARTRIDGE TAIL

1.
A deserted homeland on my lips.
Shaking off its shoulders
grains of wheat
that were caught up in the hair.

2.
Among the olive groves
the peasant draws memory’s furrows
and forgets all about the birds of the wilderness
coveting his seeds.

3.
Upon the stone palms
the morning clouds are dripping,
pressed by the hills
from all sides.

4.
The hunter
fills up his bag with rags
and sticks a partridge tail on top
for people to acknowledge
his hunting skills.

    

THE PARTRIDGE TAIL

1.
A deserted homeland on my lips.
Shaking off its shoulders
grains of wheat
that were caught up in the hair.

2.
Among the olive groves
the peasant draws memory’s furrows
and forgets all about the birds of the wilderness
coveting his seeds.

3.
Upon the stone palms
the morning clouds are dripping,
pressed by the hills
from all sides.

4.
The hunter
fills up his bag with rags
and sticks a partridge tail on top
for people to acknowledge
his hunting skills.

    
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