The Intellectual and the Bull

Defiance, scathing intellect and wit,
fighting for a land with a twig.
Blowing, harrumphing, seething wild,
lies a snorting bull with lips bared wide.

An intellect is like the bull.
He succumbs to worldly pleasures-
money and instant fame,
turning, twisting and snorting with glee.

The "brain drain" ended up-
being brain dead.
The intellect strived,
to come back with rhetoric and gray flesh.

A white beard, a wrinkled face.
The intellect tries to sustain,
public policy, philosophy and theory,
will he vanish in a whirl of misery?

You never know , my friend.
The intelligentsia might abstain,
but the intellect will compensate,
with dogma, critique and pomposity.

A curmudgeon , a wet blanket,
always striving for supremacy.
The intellect exists, with narratives,
he adds weight to his brain with relatives.

You, in an inebriated state,
would you ever know-
the raison d^ etre
whether it is to represent?

Bracing and heartfelt he lies.
Asserting his identity.
The bull snorts,
but the intellect nods, with audacity.