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.