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Mrs. Watanabe’s Last Trade

Mrs. Watanabe… at the glowing screen… Mrs. Watanabe at the glowing screen,Kimono patience in a world of green.Samurai charts with their rising suns, She fought the markets like a war half-won.Geisha fingers on the keyboard glide, White face painted in the monitor’s light.Borrowed yen so cheap they felt like sin,She carried them high where the big boys spin. Cherry blossoms falling on the candlesticks, Every petal red when the candle flicks. But the yen turned sharp like a hidden blade, Cut through the carry she thought she’d made. No tea ceremony for the margin call, Just the quiet sound of a dream’s slow fall.Hara-kiri on the Bloomberg screen, She drew the line where the losses lean. In the house of paper and ancient names, Mrs. Watanabe learned the cost of unwinnable games. She danced like a geisha on the Nikkei floor, Silk sleeves swinging as the numbers roared. Samurai pride in a silk nightgown, Took the sword of leverage, brought the whole house down. Rising sun turned blood-red at the close,Positions bleeding where the honor goes.No seppuku blade, just a single click,Account wiped clean in the candle’s wick. But the yen turned sharp like a hidden blade, Cut through the carry she thought she’d made. No tea ceremony for the margin call, Just the quiet sound of a dream’s slow fall.Hara-kiri on the Bloomberg screen, She drew the line where the losses lean. In the house of paper and ancient names, Mrs. Watanabe learned the cost of unwinnable games. She didn’t break, though the numbers lied Just bowed her head where the losses tied.One last bow to the screen’s cruel glow,Then the lights went dark on the Tokyo show. No more geisha smiles, no more warrior fire, Just a quiet woman and a funeral pyre Of dreams. The yen turned sharp like a hidden blade…Took everything Watanabe made. No tea left cooling on the table now, Just the quiet sound of a final bow. In the house of paper and ancient names,She paid the price of unwinnable games. Mrs. Watanabe’s …Last trade.