The Power of a Pencil

In a quiet hand, it found its grace,

A humble tool in a sacred place.

No crown, no sword, no mighty fame,

Yet it carved out hearts and wrote each name.

With graphite soul and wooden spine,

It drew the dreams of yours and mine.

A line, a letter, a world begun

A pencil sparked the rising sun.

It scribbled hope on tear-stained books,

In trembling hands, in worried looks.

It taught the timid child to write

Their silent thoughts in black and white.

It sketched the future, bold and bright,

On every page, in morning light.

With every stroke, a teacher's touch

So quiet, yet it meant so much.

It drew the path when words were few,

It fixed the wrongs and made them new.

It did not shout, it did not boast,

But shaped the souls we value most.

So here’s to those who held it high

Who taught us not just how, but why.

A pencil, small but look again:

It holds the hearts of wiser men.

                            

                          -Sandhiya Kamaraj