‘Who’s This Man?’

I climb up the train and see this man
And though I have seen him somewhere
I can’t quite say where have I seen him
Who is this shriveled up in a corner seat
This man who is so engrossed with everything?
This man who would think strange thoughts
Who always pushes himself
This dreamer, this immodest creative
This vane being, not free from conceit
Showing traces of manic disorder
This man at times lovable
But at times inspiring mistrust and deceit
This man so simple yet unpredictable
Who is this man, shriveled up in the seat?
This tender mouthed
Sometimes a boy
But a man when he needs to be
Who is this man?

And then this man speaks to me
He says
‘Stupid it’s you
It’s you, it’s me
Will you stop staring at me?
It’s us man
Stupid it’s we!!!’