Guardians of Heritage

Within hushed halls where sunlight sleeps,

A tapestry of stories keeps.
From Indus bronzes, ageless green,
To Mughal jewels, a whispered sheen.

The air itself, a seasoned blend,
Of incense smoke and time's soft friend.
Carved pillars stand, a silent choir,
Whispering tales of ancient fire.

A sandstone goddess, eyes serene,
Watches empires rise, then intervene.
Terracotta dancers, frozen grace,
Perform a cosmic, timeless chase.

Bronze Nataraja, cosmic spin,
Embraces both creation's din
And stillness that pervades the core,
A dance of death, yet life evermore.

Mughal miniatures, vibrant hue,
Capture love's embrace, battles true.
Silk tapestries, with threads of gold,
Stories of emperors, brave and bold.

Colonial echoes, faintly sound,
Of artifacts on foreign ground.
But India's spirit, ever strong,
Reclaims its voice, with right and song.

Tribal masks, with painted eyes,
Hold secrets whispered from the skies.

Ancient scripts on weathered stone,
Unravel wisdom, ages flown.

A rusted sword, a weathered shield,
Tell tales of battles, fought and sealed.
Armored warriors, etched in brass,
Echoes of battles that would not pass.

A child's laughter, pure and bright,
In this temple of ancient light.
Future's promise, hand in hand,
With echoes from this sacred land.

For museums are not just walls of stone,
But gateways to a world unknown.
A bridge across the river time,
Where past and present interweave, sublime.

So step inside, on this day of days,
Let India's history light your gaze.
In every object, a story unfolds,
A vibrant tapestry, bravely told.

This land of colors, this land of dreams,
Whispers its wisdom through museum seams.
Let us celebrate, with hearts alight,
The treasures that belong to the eternal night.

- Khushi Kaul