SURPANAKHA

Sitting dark, on a limping chair
I rub my nose by distance of one or two
Throttling the water flow
Along the diameter of cold pipe
That curves,
To pour water on my Sintex roof top

I peck the returning shadow, twice
In simmer of howling night;
Proving the worth of my consequences:
Did I grow my beak, strong
Making friendship with the sparrow at sunrise today!

Or,
Was fearful of the consequences:
Surpanakha!
Who cut your nose?

The distance kept on eluding
The glum of sitting night, and
I kept on checking the attachment
to suave my nose