Sticks and Stones

The high walls of the fortress
Tremble upon the sight of the stones
On which they stand,
Of which they were made.
Because they know
A pebble pulled out of its place
Will be enough to bring them down.

The ornate ceilings quake
In the wake of a handful sticks
Which were left behind in the scraps
When they rose to glory.
Because they know
A spark in one of those feeble sticks
Will be enough to turn them all into ashes.

So, they crush the hands pulling out the stones
And break the sticks into a million splinters
And think they abated the threat
To their might and power.
But stones have already loosened
And the splinters can still burn.

Zainab Siddiqui is a student who loves poetry and hopes to amplify the voices that are weak and go unheard.

Featured image credit: 愚木混株 Cdd20/Pixabay