Donald Trump once again revealed his disregard for diplomacy — this time by confronting 
South African President Cyril Ramaphosa with a baseless claim of “genocide” against white 
farmers. One of his so-called pieces of evidence turned out to be a misused image from the 
Congo, not South Africa, a proof for Trump’s deficit in education. This poem delivers a sharp, 
unsparing critique of Trump’s narcissism, ignorance, and the global cowardice that continues 
to legitimise him. A damning poetic indictment of power without accountability.



He greets with lies, not handshakes made,
hosts guests with rigged display.
Ramaphosa, like Zelenskyy,
was baited in this play.

Instead of words on trade or peace,
he slaps down twisted screens,
declares a “genocide” with flair
through doctored video scenes.

Not South Africa — the Congo,
his "proof" from foreign ground.
A funeral clip, rebranded bold,
to make his madness sound.

He didn’t flinch when facts struck back,
no shame, no second thought.
A smug parade of ignorance,
deceit is all he brought.

It isn’t gaffe, it's not mistake —
it’s willful, dumb, and proud.
He bathes within delusion's tank
and brays before the crowd.

Diplomacy? He’s never met it.
His knowledge rides the train
beneath the earth, six stations down —
he governs with disdain.

He mocks, he scoffs, he struts around,
a peacock draped in mud,
who thinks the world must kiss his ring
while standing in the crud.

Ramaphosa stood composed,
his silence made things clear.
Zelenskyy saw the circus too —
how long must we stay near?

No leader should endure this clown,
no handshake should be lent.
Yet nations grovel, bow, and smile,
afraid of what he’ll vent.

Ignore him. Starve his ego dry.
Don’t join his freak parade.
No throne should seat a man like this —
a fraud so proudly made.

He out-blunders all those before,
his vanity unmasked.
What’s left to say, when dignity
is something never asked?