The Merchant Of Venice.-Modern.

Apologies to the bard on the outset,

Merchants did live in his times,

Portia   won laurels and encomiums,

Her name has stood the tests.

 

 

Banks have taken the  financiers’ garb,

They  are no more institutions,

They  exhibit no compassion,

 As they essentially  rob.

 

 

Shylock demanded a pound of flesh,

Banks extract ounces of blood,

Forcing the borrowers to shred,

 By pressurizing them under stress.

 

Interest keep the bank working,

While nominal index is the requirement,

High rates  reign the disbursement,

 That renders  the taker to a cruel dealing.

 

 

Securities are for guarantee,

Never for undue extractions,

The institutions resort to  distractions,

As they proceed to encash on  warranty.

 

 

Half the life goes out fighting,

The officials go in and out,

In the course of  default,

Plunging the borrower to a  circumventing.

 

 

Greed of Shylock was  a theme,

Eulogized by Shakespeare,

Avarice of the bank causes despair,

As sung by his fraternity with a less gleam.