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 He is like a Deep fried French fries

Friend of all, Enemy of the State

In company with a Russian salad

Lucid like a light ray, Livid like a Lonely road

In love with an Indian mermaid

Sea shores told their stories to the sand stones

He climbs every wall of anxiety

Others call him a lizard

He believes he is a wizard

He believes he is from the center of earth

Others know he is from nowhere

But somewhere in time

Where craters would have created life

Now he is writing a poem

Or is he believing it is a poem

Either ways, it is about his uphill tasks

I am the lamp on the top of a hill

He is on the top of a mole hill

My body is sulky, silky and fishy

His mind is messy, misty and clumsy

I can move the mountains

He is eating time for breakfast

I am feeding desires on my carnal stomach

His stomach feeds a few gems and atoms

At the end, it is his life and I am the text