The world has felt your wrath before.
We felt your violent shake and your ravenous storm.
We give new names to old gods.
You were once the Latin American Sovereign debt.
Then you reincarnated as the Asian crisis.
Before you plagued us in all hemispheres and revealed your self as the Global Financial Crisis.
We know your nature.
We know your will.
We saw your guise.
Nonetheless we were none the wise.
You came bearing presents.
Your gifts were derivatives.
To change the narrative of risk.
We accepted it with open arms and flooded the market with your benevolence.
We didn’t know you were lingering in the air.
Junk bonds became butterflies.
And if only credit rating agencies clipped its wings.
Maybe they wouldn’t fly.
Nor flutter beautifully.
Or maybe they saw butterflies and called it moths.
These moths ate the garnishing garments that hid the secrets of finance.
Then the academics saw beauty in ashes.
Formulas which will change the dynamics of how to price.
Then they called it gold.
And the bankers were completely sold.
If only they saw its journey with hindsight.
But you did. And you were lurking, waiting and hungered for this disaster.
Amidst it all, you cheered them all.
On. On. On.