Stupid people
are powerful in crowds.
A single voice is noise,
harmless,
but a lot of voices
become
revolutionary war cries.
Together
they are fire,
they are cloudbursts,
and floods
that sweep off villages
and their innocent dwellers.
While the intelligent whisper,
the stupid screams,
for the crowd always listens
to the loudest voice, and
this voice may not be right
or reasonable, or just,
but history shows
it can bring down societies
to dust.
Barnadhya Rwitam 
Barnadhya – you’ve caught something urgent here – the way volume drowns out nuance, and certainty steamrolls doubt. The imagery escalates beautifully: from noise to fire to flood, each more consuming than the last, until we’re left with that final, damning word: dust.
What lingers for me is the quiet ache beneath the anger. Yes, crowds can be terrifying in their thoughtlessness. But perhaps the real tragedy isn’t stupidity versus intelligence – it’s that fear makes people desperate to belong to something, even if that something is destructive. The loudest voice often isn’t the most foolish; it’s the most certain, and certainty is wildly seductive when the world feels unsteady.
Your poem doesn’t let us off the hook with easy villains. History does show societies crumbling – but often because the thoughtful stayed silent too long, mistaking restraint for wisdom. The whisper, however intelligent, must eventually find its courage to speak at a register others can hear.
A powerful warning. Thank you for the reminder that our silences, too, leave marks in the dust.
Thanks a lot for your insightful comment, Bob