The Missing Sounds of Every Future Childhood

When I was young, beneath the sky so wide, I'd wait and play by roads that stretched outside. Ears tuned to catch that rhythmic roar, Father's Bullet rumbling home once more.
Its deep-throated beat, a familiar tune, Signaling evenings arriving soon. The thumping heart of metal beast, Brought joy and comfort, a daily feast.
Years pass by, technology grows, Silent wheels replacing rhythmic throes. Electric whispers glide the street, No longer loud, their tread discreet.
My children wait, eyes bright with hope, But silence greets their playful scope. No thunderous echo, no roaring grace, Just quiet hum, leaving empty space.
Will they miss this childhood sound, The thrill when father's bike came 'round? Or will they cherish silence more, Not knowing what came long before?
Yet deep within, my heart laments, Those joyful noises, life's accents. For childhood joys we once embraced, Are softly fading, quietly replaced.

-Karthikeyan