Sadhu Binning

Sadhu Binning Poems

Sadhu Binning Biography

Sadhu Binning, a retired UBC language instructor, has authored and co-authored more than eighteen books of poetry, fiction, plays, translations and research. His works have been included in more than fifty anthologies both in Punjabi and English. He edited a literary monthly Watno Dur and co-edits a quarterly, Watan. He is founding member of Vancouver Sath, a theatre collective and Ankur. He sat on the BC Arts Board from 1993 to 1995. He helped in organizing Punjabi Language Education Association (PLEA) in mid-90s and is the vice president since its inception. He was named one of the top 100 South Asians making a difference in BC. Sadhu has received several awards for his contributions to Punjabi language and culture in Canada. As an active member of PLEA, he has been promoting Punjabi language in educational institutions in BC for the last two and a half decades. Sadhu Binning received an honorary degree, Doctor of Letters from UBC in May 2019.)

The Best Poem Of Sadhu Binning

The Postman

in the dark
from the mouth of a radio clock
English words hit like a hammer
half opened eyes unstable feet
from toilet to kitchen
dead silence
a cup of tea a lunch bag
labeled clothes
take control of your body

sorting mail for Jacksons, Sandhus and Wongs
surroundedby people
who have learned life's secrets
from Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse
some of these 'brothers'
don't want to laugh with you
but at you
they don't even see you
they see an image
nailed in their heads
by the creators of Donald and Mickey

letters in your hand
rain on your head
every dog is a lion in its house
crooked high stairs
the cats watch you and jump away
buried under fliers from Sears and Bays
your back screams
still you watch your steps
and they watch you
through their half open curtains
Whites Blacks Indians Chinese
those kept in the house
have sharp eyes but limited vision
some of them see you as somebody
who goes on strike just to trouble them
you deliver letters
that travel from your hand
to the garbage pale
what once was
a tall and proud tree somewhere
piece by piece delivered to a garbage heap

you start with a handful
end with nothing
one year two years ten years
and then you count no more
along the way
your hair change their color
perhaps to make some
white man happy
the rest remains the same
to the end
yet piece by piece
you deliver yourself

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