The Art of Deception
In Busan, the sea was quiet.
But inside the glass hall, storms gathered.
Two men met —
Trump and Xi.
East and West.
Fire and silk.
Between them, a long table.
Gold plates.
Cold eyes.
False peace.
Trump leaned forward —
“Great man, Xi,” he said.
His smile, a rehearsed illusion.
The man who built walls
now spoke of bridges.
Xi returned the favor —
“You seek peace,” he whispered.
Yet his gaze was steel.
He knew the game.
Weapons still sailed to Israel and Ukraine.
Blood financed by diplomacy.
I watched them,
like two actors in a theatre of nations.
Every gesture calculated.
Every word, a weapon.
The crowd outside believed —
because they wanted to.
Trump’s laughter echoed.
It carried arrogance.
It carried fear.
He changed colors like a storm over the Pacific.
One moment the sun,
the next, the hurricane.
And Xi,
ancient calm behind modern glass,
played the long game.
Patience — the deadliest art of all.
Around them,
the world shifted silently.
Empires fading.
New powers rising.
Truth suffocated beneath applause.
I thought —
if politics is acting,
then humanity is the audience,
blindfolded and cheering.
As long as men pretend to rule,
and lies wear crowns,
the world will spin in deception.
Peace will remain a myth,
and truth —
the only exile left.
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