Echoes of Silent Screams… “A real man knows what it means to emit a silent soul scream that no one can hear as the water around you goes from tepid to warm, to boiling-point hot. He knows about the silent screams within men that will cause them to boil to death in their own aloneness. He knows how what it is like to cry out in an enclosed cage, longing for someone to release you…and to wait in vain as no one comes.” Echoes of Silent Screams… “A real man knows what it means to emit a silent soul scream that no one can hear as the water around you goes from tepid to warm, to boiling-point hot. He knows about the silent screams within men that will cause them to boil to death in their own aloneness. He knows how what it is like to cry out in an enclosed cage, longing for someone to release you…and to wait in vain as no one comes.” -TD Jakes Wanna tell you all a short story. I remember sitting in the sands of Red Beach, one of the many beaches on the shores of Viet Nam. We had just engaged some locals to fill sandbags for us and we had all settled in to do the things we did at the beach. It was always like taking a short in country R&R whenever we went to Red Beach…like the war was in suspension or something. I recall sitting there, staring out over the ocean wishing I was home. I remember that solitary stand-still moment in time when I cried out from way down deep in my soul to be home…why won’t someone please come get me and take me home. I cried, and I cried…and I cried to be home…and no one came, no one ever came. My tears weren’t the only tears…in fact the beach was full of the tears of homesick, lonely marines who sat and cried as I had for years before me. They cried…and no one answered their cries…I cried…no one answered my cries. Our screams were screams of fear, of loneliness. We were missing everything…our girlfriends, our wives, our homes and families…the hood…football…the movement…life…we were missing and sacrificing everything to be there with no assurance that we would ever see here again. You could hear yourself screaming from your soul, and believe me nothing is more anguish than to hear the soul screams scared and lonely young men separated from life…with death breathing all around us. Screams…screams….screams, screams…screams of loneliness…screams of fear…fear that we would never again see home. Our prison wasn’t a four-cornered room, it was an entire country that we couldn’t just get and walk away from…and go home. Whenever we did finally get home…those of us that did…we came home to yet a more revealing prison. You can hear the screams of our oppression…the screams of our young people from the streets of America…the screams of love that lies bleeding in the land. Then I thought about how long we have been screaming…screaming silently in the wind and how our screams are just blown around…and never…never answered…how our screams just age with time. Our screams just echo through the halls of time…we scream and we scream…we silently scream and cry for an answer that has always existed…always existed…yet always muffled by the screams that emanate from our souls...our sons lie bleeding in the streets…our daughters find life on their backs…and our babies…our babies…our babies…brothers we need to stand up! Brothers, we need to scream out a little louder, we need to be heard…brothers our voices have been silent for far too long…Brothers?
Posted on: Mon, 01 Jul 2013 06:50:03 +0000
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