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Tanea Nyika
Many have made a trade of delusions,
A king for thirty silver pieces,
A map for hidden treasures,
Deceiving the simple hearts,
An encrypted fallacy,
Hidden beneath the notions of love,
Promised love only paradise holds.
Love so vociferously proclaimed
The intuitive turned out to be a decoy.
Leading to a dead end
I’ll forever succumb to,
Fake love!
A labyrinth to her heart.
If in her there’s a centre of feeling.
When the heart aches with ultrasonic rhythm.
Her heart rather stays numb.
To present an utter horror of all horrors;
A two-fold misconception,
Twice as clean.
One week in to the game,
Two to go.
Like a pirates’ boat ashore
All were ready to row,
Only to plunge in muddy-like snow.
To be drawn back to square one.
Failure without a deadline.
Just to smile daily and say it’s fine.
Facing rejection and setting a show.
I could have remained on the low.
But it is the same old game.
Fake love!
An unending marathon.
Another soul needed for ransom.
It is the same old game,
Trade of delusions.
Where either can’t relinquish.
The player played the play,
On the secret spot so delicate,
He displayed intricate care,
In finding new hearts to slay
Showing no mercy and reverence,
His talent is priceless!
Tanea Nyika is a student at First Class Academy
Online Reporter