The Cursed Wilderness Poem by Jinnuraine Jaigirdar

I want to tell—
the history of a cursed wilderness.
My voice carries hundreds of oppressed truths,
my verse burns like fire,
my prose thunders like storm.
I want to tell, today, the story of a cursed wilderness.

Whatever I say, the rhythm breaks.
Cowardice weaves its net,
conflict strangles poetry and prose.
Language falters, joy dissolves in illusion.
I see only an ocean of evil,
I see pits filled with darkness,
I see the cursed wilderness.

Yet silence screams.
Millions cry, no one listens.
A cloud-shadow is seized by a demon,
the wind carries a thousand sighs,
the wilderness is sealed, blocked, cursed.

Foodless—hungry,
remediless—sick,
waterless—thirsty,
sleepless—cold.
Hunger, famine, weary life.
The cursed wilderness lies exhausted.

Children wither like dry leaves,
breath grows faint, dreams drown in wind.
Bullets fall like meteor showers,
flames sketch patterns in the air,
stone and brick collapse,
rising as mountains of ruin.

Who is responsible?
Who dares to speak?
Who names the monster's face?
All are silent, all are afraid.
The cursed land lies mute—
silent as the dead.

Meanwhile—
shameless, unashamed—Trump,
a savage on stage,
spewing foul rhetoric.
And his blood-eyed disciple Netanyahu—
genocide on his hands,
merciless, unforgettable.
Feudal lords of a decaying world.

What kind of civilization is this?
The United Nations—a hollow drum,
a useless echo, lifeless, dull.
The cursed wilderness burns on,
its fire unquenchable.
Shamelessness has no boundary,
barbarity no horizon.

The bridge of peace has fallen,
swept away in the tide.
Let a roar rise from the river of ruin,
let eyes meet eyes,
let savages vanish—
gripped by eternal, indomitable power.