Where Does the Train Go, When It Leaves Munich?

Watching © by Joshua Liberman – The Tao of Photography

Watching © by Joshua Liberman – The Tao of Photography

A tiny frightened child stands

At the bottom of a hill 


As the train roars by

Through the tall pine trees

Wondering where it goes.

Does it take you far away?

To someplace warm, peaceful

A place where there is space to sleep

Sunshine to warm your face?

Munich is icy cold, so full of ghosts

Corpses buried by the hands of others.

As she peeks through chocolate eyes

          She wonders…

What kind of world stands silently by

          Knowingly seeing

          Doing nothing…

Allowing the murder of its children

While it looks the other way?

By two she’s learned

Survival means silence

Old socks stuffed in mouths

Too hurt to cry out loud.

She places her needs

          Her dreams

          Her feelings aside

To be remembered

And dealt with another day.


She watches…

Stuffing all her screams

All the terror down too deep.

Afraid if she begins to cry

She will be unable to stop.

          As a whisper…

She stands

Watching the train moving

Through the tall pine trees.


This time it will come and take…

            …her Papa away.


8 thoughts on “Where Does the Train Go, When It Leaves Munich?

  1. I just can’t imagine this kind of fear and pain. I honestly can’t. It makes my stomach hurt just thinking about it. I have always felt that way, but hadn’t realized how my perception had been “sanitized” by the media and the fact that it did not directly affect me until a little girl taught me a lesson one day at school. I wrote about it on my blog, it is rough and unedited because I couldn’t even bear to read what I wrote. The day I wrote it, I felt this irresistable urge, a compulsion, to get it out. I couldn’t understand why. I locked myself in my office and just sat and typed while my kids clamored for my attention. Then I posted it. As it turned out, the day I wrote it was Anne Frank’s birthday. I had no idea until another reader (Val Russell–go visit her!) posted a birthday wish for Anne. When I saw it I just sat and cried.

    If you want to read it, it is under the prose tab on my blog and is called Red. The saddest part about it is that every word is true, except for the girl’s name. Oddly enough, I called her Sarah in the story, and soon afterwards, I met you:)


  2. Sara,

    I took a look earlier at Joshua’s work without knowing he was your son. Incredible insight with his photos. I enjoyed finding out that we both have very artistic sons named Joshua. 🙂

    This poem is so powerful, seems that vision through a child’s eyes often surpasses adult’s. The title is perfect. Thank you for sharing it with all of us.


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