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Ambika Jois Jun 2019
There are some
Who age too fast
To keep up
With the trend

There are some
Who say age
is nothing
But numbers

There are some
Who need numbers
To help them
Feel their worth

There are some
Whose numbers
Don't add up
Till the end

There are some
Then there are others...

There are some
Who like to wander
With thoughts
Loose in their minds

There are some
Who spend their lives
Thinking 'bout feelings
Of all kinds

There are some
Who believe that
It's too late to
Trust your heart

There are some
Who'll stand in your way
When they know
You'll make it safe

There are some
Then there are others...

There will always be
The one

There are some
Then there are others...
And there will always be
The one.
Was feeling a little blue a few days ago. Felt like it was too late to reach for my dreams. Felt like I was stuck in the same pickle for all my life. Someone told me it'll be told late. Heck, everyone has told me that. They told me it's too late to pursue to my dreams after a certain age. Something tells me if I'm stuck in this same pickle for all these years, I must still have a chance. If pickles last that long and time doesn't stop for that, then why would there be a limit for my possibilities?
Ambika Jois Sep 2018
The rug
Lying underneath your feet;
Been on the ground
So long,
It's stuck to the ground.

The fence
Standing deep, anchored in soil;
**** rooting down
So deep,
It's part of the land.

The frames are clean,
The pictures seem
Like history.
Once upon a time,
I was
More than furniture to us.

But now:

I want you to see me,
Like the door you can open;
I'm more than what's inside your home.

I want you to want me,
Like you used to everyday;
I'm that girl you wanted to make time for when you're alone.

Now, are you not alone?
Is that why
I'm the rug, fence and your furniture?

I know I work from home.
I know I got a lotta things to do.
I know I haven't lived up to the best of expectations.

I'm still that girl you fell in love with.
I dream beyond every bandwidth.
I take my time to really be sure.
I wanna do it without complications.

But I know,
I bore the hell outta you.
With my
Nagging that could turn ears blue.
But I
Promise that I love you baby,
You gotta see me in the light of the truth:

I want you to see me,
Like the door you can open;
I'm more than what's inside your home.

I want you to want me,
Like you used to everyday;
I'm that girl you wanted to make time for when you're alone.

Now, are you not alone?
Is that why
I'm the rug, fence and your furniture?
There are times when we are so much a part of other people's lives - married couples, live-in couples, friends, family, housemates, you name it - that we turn into their everyday lives in such an unnoticeable way. This poem is about what tends to happen when you get too used to having someone around.
Ambika Jois Sep 2018
Oh how I love you,
Dear Unborn Baby,
I've been waiting
For you.

Holding you in my arms,
Is all I'm yearning,
For I've been waiting,
Since 22.

I can't wait
Any longer
To see
Which part of you
Resembles me.
I want you
To be better
In every way baby,
Better than me.

I've seen how
This world can be deceiving.
I want you to trust me,
When I hold you close.
I can't wait
For this world to see you.
When you're ready to take off,
Take my love with your wings.

Oh how I love you
Dear Unborn Baby,
I've been waiting
For you.

Holding you in my arms,
Is all I'm yearning,
For I've been waiting,
Since 22.
I've always had this vision of being a mother, holding my baby in my arms. I'm not a mother, yet I feel like I know this feeling already. This poem is how I recently felt when a gush of broodiness took over briefly.
Ambika Jois Sep 2018
The days are filled with silence
I spend sunlight on finding answers
Waiting hours on end for night to fall
Hoping another day will carry chances

I used to sing my heart out
When I was left alone at home
Now I fear that someone might hear me
That someone is me, oh no

How did I go
From melody to nothing
Years of dreaming
To losing everything

How will I rise
From nothing to something
Years of learning
Have I forgotten to sing?

The nights are filled with demons
I spend moonlight on finding angels
Waiting hours on end for the morning
Hoping I'd wake up to a sequel

I've only lived half of what I can
I've only dreamed half of what I am
I've only sang half of what I understand
I only, only, only... just began...

How did I go
From melody to nothing
Years of dreaming
To losing everything

How will I rise
From nothing to something
Years of learning
Have I forgotten to sing?
I've been undergoing some low times lately. It may just be a simple case of writer's block or something similar, but after a turning point in my life, this poem defines how I've been struggling to find myself again. Maybe I'll never find my old self, but I hope to find my new self soon.
  Aug 2018 Ambika Jois
Dave Legalisa
i'm a fruit dressed
in a shell so callous and thick
so hard yet vulnerable
when i fall
i, too will easily break.

i'm a fruit so sweet
no one can taste
so fierce no one can touch
and so soft that everyone
dies to hug.

i'm a fruit ripened
through time of this orb
i go out in spring,
die in winter
i dance with trees,
until i turn splinter.

i'm a fruit sugary
in platonic disguise
so yellow and seraphic
smells like daisy
sticky as honey.

i'm a fruit unkind
no one knows what am i
how poisonous am i
until you taste the lie.
not even a friend knows me well.
  Aug 2018 Ambika Jois
Egg
We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.
Inspired by the Vanity Fair article of André Aciman's reaction to his book *Call Me By Your Name* being made into a movie. Specifically the quote, "I couldn't write silence."
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