His horse ran straight into the trap.

He severed heads from necks.

He saved the honor of his people,

and lost his own— 

his head falling from the shoulder.

He, the Hero,

was their ultimate guard.

He ran to his shop every morning,

closed deals with steady hands,

held his temper before louder men,

and carried his family on his back.

He, the Hero,

kept their world from breaking.

– Amit Choudhary, 2010

If ever one could become another,
I would become you.
If ever someone could love another,
I would love you.

If ever the sun should rise,
I would rise with you.
If ever the night should fall,
I would fall for you.

If ever they speak of love,
they will see us.
If ever teenagers taste their first kiss,
they will feel us.

If ever someone is born,
they will witness us.
If ever someone must die,
they will wish to stay with us.

– Amit Choudhary, 2010

O lady, the lady in white—
your youth, a doodle,
virgin,
without the painter’s sight.

Days drift off the shore,
tomorrow turns to night—
dark,
darker without this light.

It comes to every flower,
arrives with equal right—
fading,
fading with each moonrise.

It falls behind desire,
drifting ever farther—
wasted,
wasted like a hollow clatter.

Your youth would widen
with the sky—
blue,
blue over the white.

Days would grow longer,
night would shrink—
still,
till stars return to light.

— Amit Choudhary, 2010