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Ambika Jois Apr 2020
I hear sounds,
But I’m not a part of it.
Does listening count?
I’ve gotten to know it all bit by bit.

I see shades of spring,
Breeze still chilled.
Just a bit of warmth
The sun can fulfill.

Work hasn’t stopped
For those who’re hustling.
Come hail, shine or Covid,
Keep going, little tummies are rumbling.

Lockdown lifts,
Isolation ends.
We think we know it all,
From what heaven sends.

Little pink petals
Peel away from the source.
Lands on another’s yard,
This is nature’s course.

We grew many years,
We learned to share, serve and save,
Where nature will take us,
Depends on how we now behave.
A quarantined mind is a creator's workshop. Just because there's a lockdown doesn't stop our minds from thinking, overthinking and dramatising a feeling. Here is my next Covid related poem, holding a few thoughts that crossed my mind over a cup of Roobois tea as I soaked in some sunshine to the sounds of a strong breeze and someone's constantly turned on lawn mower.
Ambika Jois Apr 2020
We wanted to be left alone,
Now we want company.
We nagged for personal space,
We want to be around many.

Were we made to bond,
Or were we made to detach?
This is the mystery of life,
From Adam and Eve to the latest batch.

We cursed that paradise was lost,
When Adam bit the apple.
How long it is taking us
To restore this planet, is a baffle.

We use up everything earth gives us.
We spare not a single resource.
And now look at us isolating,
Like forbidden prisoners behind trap doors.
Took a walk yesterday. The emptiness inspired me to express a few words into this poem. Do share your thoughts 🙏🏼
Ambika Jois Mar 2020
What does lockdown mean for me?
I'm housebound anyway.
People think I'm always free,
I'm now that 'at home' mom everyday.

This is also what they thought,
When I told them I'm a singer.
'If you don't own charttoppers,
You're just a failure.' is what lingered.

I found it shameful and difficult,
Broke down several times,
I couldn't find my own identity,
Searching for myself felt like a crime.

41 weeks and 2 days I carried her,
My little angel, the apple of my eye,
I'm now learning a basic fact -
- A lifetime flies faster than light.

So fast, I don't know what day it is,
I'm living each day by the hour.
Before I know it, it's bedtime again..
What exactly is within my power?

When the birds stretch their wings,
At the crack of a quiet dawn.
The time I was raised to wake and listen,
To the Tanpura, the sound of Om.

This is my one true power,
Whether they believe it or not.
A lockdown may not define it,
I'm a musician, a mom, not a robot.

These clear blue skies at spring,
Came again after a barren season.
I'm housebound and learning again,
Another chance to live it right is my reason.
A little piece of my reality during the darned COVID season.
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.
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