Which is the favorite color of the rainbow?
Why do the raindrops commit suicide on your windowpane?
What do your clothes whisper in the wardrobe, while you sleep?
What secrets does your pillow keep?
What if your alarm clock rang in your dream, like a bell?
When you look into your bathroom mirror, do you see a friend or a foe?
What does your toothbrush think of you?
When you shower, do you sing or sigh?
Are your shoes happy that they are your shoes?
How often do you offend the morning songbirds with your headphones?
What if, one morning, while you cross the street with the zebra, a car runs over your inattentive self?
Will the onlookers call the animal ambulance?
Or only you will die?
What will become of your biochemical soul then?
A cherry, an earwig, or a dew drop on a daffodil?
Or perchance a color of the rainbow?
PS: Ever since I reached the alarming conclusion that I might die in the near future, I’ve become curiously poetic.