A London Sunday Of An Indian Visitor Poem by Ananta Madhavan

Once on a Sunday, when I was about forty, I was in London;
And out of curiosity and tired of newsprint I visited
The Victoria and Albert Museum.
The India Room filled me with native pride.
A people who produced such ornaments and jewels
Three thousand years ago, the beatific and intricate
Bronzes, sculptures, dainty miniatures of
Doe-eyed damsels waiting for podgy princes
In cool Mahals. A country with such a past
Cannot be devoid of a future where artists
And rulers who conserve the arts will flourish.

The Far East Room is another glory: the screen,
The scroll of polo players,
The Tang horse of pale green jade,
The foggy panel with sparse black brushwork,
Picking out rooftops, a boat, a cluster of bamboos.

I walked across the street to the Science Museum,
With its instruments and machines. It was for me a lesson
In the diversity of human genius.