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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