(c) Paul Andrew Dunker 2014




Let the current take me,

not a strong swimmer I am

but a floating old tree

adrift too many times to find

the strength-

And I won’t mind to be

another countless one,

I was another one before

in dreams unmoored

with sails secure, a helm

to steer my life

into a sea of hope.

And I was helpless lured

to shores of paradise

that never was but a mirage

of my desires-

So let me drift

and be a floating old tree

wherever life would push ashore

I cannot swim, not anymore

just drift along

and wait for storms

 to take me far,

or break me apart-


“We keep drifting till we see light. Seldom do we realize that the light was always there!”

― Avijeet Das



The in Between



The in Between


I wish not to return-

To begin at a page many chapters behind

folded places to mark all the impressionable parts

(not too many I am afraid)

But sometimes in the story with a breaking of hearts

I left stains on the paper from my depleted tears,

underlined with red ink I may find

all the reasons to explain my deep fears

and go back on the story to connect I may try

all the dots from the long tedious chapters

the in between understanding the reasons

why a story begins with a cry

as it ends with the changing of seasons-


“And in the fall, the cold would wither that which was known, scattering new seed. In the spring, that which had been sleeping awoke and a new season of beauty began. For Life seeks life and builds a bridge across the darkest valley.”

― David Paul Kirkpatrick, The Address Of Happiness

Silence of a Lonesome Life



Silence of a Lonesome Life



can you hear the silence of a lonesome life?

It sounds like the wind howling in the storm

through the open window emptiness adorn

all the dusty spaces where memories subside-

It sounds like water rushing through the streams

in the enchanted forest of my past gone dreams.

Can you hear the silence as I drift away?

It sounds like a whisper in the dead of night

ghosts pacing the halls of my empty house-



can you hear the silence of a lonesome life?

It sounds like the wind singing to the moon

through the open window everything complete

all the spaces filled with memories alive-

It sounds like water playing in the streams

in the enchanted forest of my present dreams.

Can you hear the silence as I find my way?

It sounds like god’s whisper in the quiet night

ghost dancing the halls of my love filled house-


“To an optimist loneliness is freedom, to all others it is prison.”

― Amit Kalantri





My hope becomes old and it wrinkles and falls

to the ground beneath you-

Such a lonesome existence

to be found,

to be drowned

in a need that it grew

from a smile so much carelessly tossed,

as if knew

hope turns old with the distance

and it wrinkles and falls.


“Hold fast to dreams,

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird,

That cannot fly.”

― Langston Hughes





There is something left in broken fragments

on the tongue within the sweetness a sour taste

lingering amid residual flavors-

A puzzle’s piece lost in the shuffling and haste

of drunken early mornings and late nights

when gulping every bit like sweetest wine.

But how thirsty I remained after all

was consumed, waking up all alone

from a fuddled life as I stumble and fall,

and then shattered I’m left with the aftertaste

of the broken fragments-






In caged freedom I wish to touch above the sky

but arms while strong will not suffice

and didn’t teach my wings to fly-

A cage of gold becomes the life I ever known

and seems so far as ever flown

was in my dreams,

but real they seemed

with strongest wings I flew so far

that when I reached to touch the sky,

I touched a star-


“Reach high, for stars lie hidden in your soul. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal.”

– Pamela Vaull Starr





How can ever fix what sometimes is broken

changing what I see to satisfy my ego?

You are who you are,

nature took its way, happiness a token

for a few reserved

but we all deserved-

Easier to accept there is no single road

and everyone must choose

one that’s near or far

sometimes leaving scars,

mines just didn’t show

for the longest time-

How can I then fix what may not be broken

but misguided views

of how life should be?

I am who I am with my imperfections

nothing left out broken,

nothing new to fix

but my own perceptions-


“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

― Oscar Wilde