"Questions" is built almost entirely out of questions, and the speaker never settles on an answer. They begin with a big puzzle: can you believe in love and in revolution at once, when one seems personal and the other collective? Then they wonder whether that split is real or just a mistake in how we think.
From there the questions get darker and more tangled. How much of what we say and do is really ours? We can always say "No," yet we also depend heavily on other people. Biology pushes us around, and the poem asks how an idea or a feeling could ever change the physical world.
The ending drops the tone. The speaker admits these questions may not matter, because "we are forced to exist." The mood is thoughtful but weary, a mix of curiosity and quiet resignation. The short lines and wide gaps make it feel like someone thinking out loud, pausing, and running up against a wall.