The Inquisitors

Right from before birth, All men has got the talent of being A philosopher. There we where, Still pondering, Should we go? Should we not come? Before mother Without our permission Pushed us out. Some said we cried tears of joy, But was it? As a child, We always wondered So many things That even father and mother Stopped to bother. Is the bird a plane? Is the plane a bird? We never thought wrong Of walking about with pants, But we always wondered Why does she bends to pee? Any why do I stand to wee-wee? Growing older, Into a teenager, We kept the questions on Is the moon round and beautiful? Is the moon C shaped like we see? Where is the sun at night? Does the star sleeps by day? And though we've been told not to, We still will ask, Should I love? Why should I not have sex? One rather 'wise' question We shall never cease to ask, Some ask themselves, Others, ask others; Does love really exists? Its quite funny, How the questions never cease And how they hardly repeats, With different questions, At different times On manytimes different things. Even when the God-given Beautiful black hair turns grey. We still inquire, When will death come? How will she come? Even now as you read, you ask; What do we learn from this? As some will also ponder; Did he really do this? Won't you? Despite I am here, still asking Should we stop pondering? Same me, still thinking, Should I have written this?