Question to ask

Here's a story of a youngster.
In that moment gets his food.
Place... is near the trashcans.
One of those whom the future
comes to ask: What's the way?

Then a stranger coming by,
says: Hi. Says, his brain is very
much ingenius. Installed there
by some foreign power. Into a
body of a common beggar. Jesus!
Warn out concept, so pretentious.

'Great!' he says, the eyes now
start to think. Either playful or
they're serious - you will never
know, with the superpositions
that run through our minds.

'Great!' he says, the eyes now
open up. 'I have questions
to be asked.' And now he sees
it, that the genius will not show.
But the firm idea is thus alive.

Questions are of substance.
While not clear how they come
to be, they appear in a real body.
Pure and surefooted confidence.
Independent of answers, they exist.

Should it come to it, would I then,
would I stand upright, thinking
with my open eyes and have it?
Have it - anything - in me to ask?
Or would I rather... Would I
blather my way to no ending?