A Desperate Cry

Slavery.  It is brutal.  It wretches families apart and creates broken hearts.  It has caused mass destruction around and inside of people.  The thirteenth amendment helped abolish this practice; however, slavery, albeit in a different form,  still exists today.  Thousands of girls are sold as slaves into human trafficking each year and are forced to live a slave's life.  Below is a piece I wrote last year about thirteenth amendment slavery, but many of these feelings are still experienced by young girls daily.  May we pray for these girls in horrendous circumstances and be the change we wish to see in the world. (For more information on human trafficking, please visit "Take A Stand" blog at http://suguna11.blogspot.com/)

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I am Tennessee. I have seen haughty arrogance and spiteful prejudice. I have seen the sharp, wild gleam of terror in eyes. I have heard the screams of anguish as families were being torn apart. I have felt the chilling despair of empty, black hopelessness.
I am a plantation. I have seen the backbreaking work that speeds up the aging process. I have heard the soul songs of deliverance from the heart of the persecuted. I have felt the solid words of hate and the burning hot crack of the whip on bare flesh.
I am the dwelling of a small slave family. I have seen the family’s careful, attentive lookout for each other’s safety.  I have heard the hushed, stoic discussion of pained parents by candlelight. I have felt the never ceasing yearning for freedom.
I am a cave. I see Destiny and Mathias, seven year old twins. The children talk hurriedly of their longings - longing for parents, longing for a bed, longing for enough food, and longing for secure normality.  The humor they once possessed so abundantly is evident no longer. I have too many times before seen fugitives and hunters, heard the hushed conversations of children who are children no longer, and felt both panic and pride.
I am a blade of grass. I see Travaris, an eighteen month old baby. I see his big eyes watching a nearby ant crawl up a stick. His eyes show a sense of thoughtful wonder, a wonder of the changes he is facing traveling by means of such secrecy and lack of playfulness to him – by means of the Underground Railroad. His eyes also show a hint of biting confusion and stinging sorrow, feelings which no baby should have to experience. I have often in the past seen grown men duck and lie still; I have heard the cry of a hidden baby. I have felt soothing words sung in reassurance.
I am a hidden cellar. I see Saidat, a sixteen year old forced to lead her siblings to freedom. She is penning a letter that she knows may never reach her dearest friend from birth whom she had to leave on the cold, harsh morning the day she ran with her siblings. She was not allowed to say goodbye for the fear that was evident in the hearts of all blacks planning emancipation for their loved ones. During these unjust times, I have repeatedly seen young men and women forced to be made strong. I have heard the prayers of the brokenhearted full of peaceful faith. I have felt the thick longing for friends torn away.
I am a wood. I see Tyron, a twelve year old boy standing stock still against the back of a tree. He is trying to breathe as quietly as possible; he is focusing all of his rock hard concentration and determination on this task of making himself invisible to the eyes nearby. This rock hard mentality once was used against his friends in mind games they used to play, and it was used to fire his endurance to beat them in a race. Alas, in the past I have frequently seen the stiff boots of vicious, hating bounty hunters and heard the crying out of the desperate, desperate to know joy once again. I have felt the fear of the hunted.
I am broken.
 © 2013 Deborah Hope Shining


I definitely don't want this to be a monologue. What are your thoughts? Questions? Ideas?