Fit Not To Have A Name

There is a man
who does what all I do
with and without 

Strange it is to find  him
copying me,  Anger 
drives me mad.   I want
to bash him.

I do not want to name him
as I seethe with anger 
when I think of him.  He 
continues without a pause.

Having learnt to shun him,
I pass the days in peace,
but when I happen to see him
my pressure shoots up.

To remain placid and passive,
 I should undergo a training.
 of late, my indignation 
 takes the garb of contempt.

The man keeps on and on.
He will never stop doing.
His irrational sensibility irks,
 compelling me to shun his existence.