Questions
A poem as abstract as life where there are only questions to answers.
Strange isn’t it: an answer to certain questions are questions themselves.
Are there any answers to find or is life so abstract that there are only questions?
Every thought ending with a question mark;
An infinite number of questions
And only a limited number of answers.
Is there an answer to every question?
If yes, where do we find the answers?
If no, what next? Another question? Or just another question.
Are there same answers for different questions? Or are there same questions for different answers?