Men, of their, own, renaissance
Who labor, thru, their, estrangement
With, each nuance, of, life’s substance
Invent, a world, until, they are, spent!

Ever, drifting thru, life’s enigmas
A restless, mind’s, thought-caravan
Leaves, a trail of, delusional dilemmas
Few milestones, tombs, of a disgraced man!

How far, to look, how far, to reach
In the pilgrimage, of, nothingness
Where thoughts, resent, when words, beseech
“Ain’t, Russian roulette, saner than, chess!”

French passions, beyond, every obsession
With the streak, of a madman, jeer and joust
On a crucifix, bleeds, every conviction
In The Search, Of That, Lost Proust!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra