Summer Cleaning by Khushi Yadav (16, India)

How often do I wonder what’s the hook of the song?
Am I being tone deaf, or the picture is painted too stout
Along the outskirts- very unsettling. Like when I draw parallels
Between ‘see’ and ‘listen’, but so is with your song
And this bottom shelf racked with cassettes, swathed in dust
And rust cutting fine figures like your voice on summer afternoons.

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The toned notes you gather storms with,
And hold them for me – you sing,
Of that I’m sure, but to whom is my question.
That’s what I wonder – the hook of you and me,
Of this song that bears pain like poetry
I never read, but have seen. Delusions
Like chromatic on diaphanous wings, I see. 
It’s summer again and there are dragon flies everywhere.