The Great Unquestioned Question

“Why is the sky blue?”
a child asks,
words like bubbles floating up,
and with that simple question,
the world unravels,
logic begins to spiral,
into a kaleidoscope of contradictions.

Is it the scattering of light?
The physics of wavelengths bending,
as sunlight kisses the atmosphere,
a scientific dance of blues —
or perhaps,
it’s because the oceans reflect the heavens,
a mirror of liquid dreams.

But wait,
could it be something more absurd?
“Because the stars are made of jellybeans,”
the universe a sweet confection,
each twinkle a sugary delight,
bouncing off the clouds
like laughter in a candy shop.

Or maybe,
the sky is blue because
it’s tired of being gray,
a mood swing of cosmic proportions,
an existential crisis painted in cerulean,
each shade a whisper of the infinite.

And what if —
what if no one ever questioned it,
that’s why?
A collective agreement to accept the blue,
a pact of silence in the face of wonder,
the unexamined sky, a comfort zone.

But then,
what of the pinks at dawn,
the fiery reds at dusk?
Is the blue merely a cover,
a curtain drawn over the chaos,
hiding the truth beneath layers of hues,
where contradictions dance like shadows?

“Why is the sky blue?”
The question loops,
twisting through the fabric of thought,
an endless spiral,
where logic bends and breaks,
and in the absurdity,
we find ourselves —
lost in the great unquestioned question,
chasing answers that lead us nowhere,
yet somehow,
everywhere.