Springs barely last a month, here.
March-long Indian springs dotted with exams
And half spoken discussions which dissolve into panic.
The weather too is warm then,
Threatening to swelter.
But as our skin cracked under the lofty sun
You were chalk working tirelessly against glossy white-boards.
And the words didn't show up.
Surely you didn't think they'd turn to read you?
Weathered dust doesn't measure up to ink, my love.
But you were never the same again.
And we could never be us again.
Honey, you left the rough for the shiny.
Oh to be young and revel in betrayal, am I right?
Hungry from the growing heat,
Inching towards summer and torrential mango showers already,
I had quickly bitten through your sweet juice and luster,
In frenzied intervals which stretched across minutes in the sterile washroom stalls.
Our embraces felt complete and completing somehow.
No, I know mum, friends never last
But is it lasting if you still smile at me in passing but then I'm gone?
No… I'm not gone, per say.
That'd mean I'm dead or missing, silly.
I didn't realise you held the power to make me feel extinct.
So you started walking these hallways with princesses and scientists, hard workers and
preachers
But I was the artist and you were the art.
Can you find that again?
You said you enjoyed being my muse.
So I thought I'd enjoy being your fool.
I tried to get you into Lorde's music
Shame, you never made it through Melodrama,
Weren't warned of the regret that comes with kissing writers in the dark.
And outside the exam hall,
When grades became hierarchical,
Ambitions propaganda,
Our backpacks were separated by others in between them.
I kept mine near the staircase,
So I could grab mine and escape
The parade of intellect that you co-lead.
You've given me smiles and pretended to pay homage to this old, poor man’s greed.

And we continue to collide,
More like crash against the shore,
I'm salty as brine perhaps,
You're a seashell I'm bound to kiss a million times in repentance.
You're an angel, a four-leafed clover,
The moment someone sees a cherry blossom for the first time.
It changes your life.
Who else could teach you human nature over six exam days?
No truly, you don't measure up to them but they don't measure up to you either.
Oh well, here’s three springs down the road.
Today you're singular and sedimented,
(Did they tell you that chalks belong with dull slates?)
Our backpacks and divisions are different.
I'm alone still,
Have been since that first spring.
We've made up in half sentences,
Never made a whole two again, we can't.
You.. you still play the hierarchy, don't you?
Don't answer that, I know.
Meant it when I said I notice everything about you.
You lost a writer, an artist, a blackboard, a home,
And chalkdust, seashells, backpacks and muses,
Once detached are cursed in writing and midnight whispers
So many times, it's hard to keep up with.
In my defence,
I wished you both the best and the worst, I promise.
Now you remain out of sight,
I noticed you're busy in that lonesome high life.
But maybe, just maybe, you still regret.
Do you sit closer to the door so you can flee from me the second the bell rings? Do you?
Then why do you still tell me all your secrets in the washroom?
Have you noticed that I no longer tell you mine?
Your old friend has finally learned to refuse any more close fists or open hands.
My mother despises you.
But today I’m compelled to sin, make a small defiance in your name.
Blood is blood.
Whether in the veins of a sister or shed from a wound.
Come lie in my lap, love.
Cut your tongue on the nip of my pen,
Bathe in my vengeance, lick my truth off your teeth.
My darling, you’re truly something divine.
I've known since that very first spring, you'd find,
That your blood is as sweet as cherry wine.

Shreetama Chakraborty is a 16 year old poet, fantasy writer, and graphic designer from India. She has been writing for four years and her poems have been published thrice in 2025 by two literary magazines. She is currently a part of another literary magazine's graphic design department. She aspires to be a published author and inspire many with her colloquial yet rich writing style. She aims to explore character depth, her lived experiences and thoughts through art and would always be fond of anything dark academia.