The Sound of the Train
The sound of the train
it can stir joy.
That long-awaited arrival,
your journey finally beginning,
the destination within reach.
Or it can bring sadness.
You hear it from the top of the stairs,
just a few steps too late —
and it’s gone.
You wait for the next one,
wondering what might have been.
But sometimes, it’s not joy or sorrow.
It’s fear.
Because the sound doesn’t just mean travel.
It reminds you of something else —
something louder, deadlier.
Missiles.
Rockets.
Each time the ground shook,
each time you ran,
each time your heart stopped at the thought
of someone you loved not surviving.
You were just a child.
Then you were an adult.
Still running. Still hearing it.
Now, when I hear it, I flinch.
Yes, I get annoyed.
Maybe scared,
but only for a moment.
And then I remember —
there are children in my homeland
hearing this sound every second.
Not of trains.
But of rockets.
Every minute, someone they love
is injured, is killed,
is lost forever to the same sound.
To me, it’s a minor disturbance.
To them, it’s trauma.
A daily reality.
A haunting echo.
Whether it’s a train on a railroad
or a missile
the sound stays with you.
Forever.
Salma Hossam Almadhoun