The Workers Path

Poem By Dan Uriel

we live here! Our nerves are jerking
the multicoloured fish is wrestling inside
wages, labour prices
squeaks in our pockets, so we go home

newsprint on the table with bread
and in the newspaper that we are free
we chase a bug with a lamp and the lust
and we estimate ourselves with two inches splatters

this is the work
which was dressed in iron in the class struggle
we stand up for it like a chimney let's see
and we hide for him, like the persecuted

on the assembly line of history
assembled in this way the world is made,
where the labour will go to the dark factory
nails the cast star of Man

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Morning Delight

the landscape starts in the morning light
bleeding: the soft fluff of the night's lye
he is still full of sleep, the charm draws
as if the depths of our river were not flowing


oh the man is finally race
It reaches a sad plane watery
and looks away thoughtfully and cleverly
but never reached hope


now, my soul man - I go there
I fly myself with terrible ears

dust crawls on weak dew


although the blessed bishop reigns
If a bishop is also a church member
neither he nor my bishop is my lord
my faith has no idea


I stand in a puddle with my feet
to the puddle - that's his job
he comes out with a coated tail
the web that smells on my feet

On The Paths Of The Past

nothing on earth is eternal
shadows growin the evening,
the twilight also whines
the grown body of life is distributed