Metaphysics of a wandering intellect

Intellect is pungent as if bitter to taste
It smells sweet only when goaded
and is earthen in the moulded shape
The sweet bird of youth departs once and doesn’t
come back to its origin
But intellect stays as it is till the very end
and love cajoles all that is flattered sense
when time is with the null
But intellect is wandering ghost
hardly stays with its foothold
Newer meanings are sought and the old battles decided
in where the driving seating throne of intellect is
and mind flourishes for a while till every concept is sought
and his soul is God

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