Sankar Roy, originally from India, is an engineer, MBA, poet, translator, essayist and multimedia artist living near Pittsburgh, PA. He is a winner of PEN USA Emerging Voices, author of two chapbooks of poetry from Pudding House– Moon Country (2006) and The House My Father Could Not Build (forthcoming,2007) . He is an associate editor of international poetry anthology, Only the Sea Keeps: Poetry of the Tsunami (Rupa Publication, India and Bayeux Arts, Canada) . Sankar's poems have appeared or forthcoming in over thirty literary journals including Bitter Oleander, Crab Orchard Review, Harpur Palate, Icon, Runes, Rhino and Poetry Magazine. His recent project is creating a multimedia website (www.writersalliance.net) against the genocide in Darfur. He is a co-founder of Poets for Humanity.
Be Patient, Don’t Try To Open Your Eyes
in a hurry. First, let me remove the bandages.
Let me wipe the eyelids with a soft cloth.
Take your time in adjusting your sight
because you have never experienced
so much light. Don’t be afraid
of the changes you’ll observe. It is our future
when we’ll belong to the sky; also it is our past
when we evolved from rivers.
Look, the houses have turned into temples.
Someone scattered white boulders
in our yards. Bird gods nest above every rooftop.
Streets have transformed into canals.
Now, to get anywhere you have to swim or fly.
Winged-postmen deliver all the mail.
A few airborne children return home
carrying their school bags in their beaks.
When you finally learn to open your eyes,
don’t expect to see me by your side.
As the monk says: to witness my face
you need to open an inner eye.