I toss and turn on my bedCalmed, by my hands meeting the rosy fleshThe flower; they call itMine is a wild one, I comprehendMy hands trace the journey Through the bushy wildernessAnd come upon the flower's petalsAnd as I caress its innermost budDewdrops appearI barely muffle the delicate moansThat begin to escape my parted lipsFor the flower within me bloomsAs beautifully as the springOh, only if they heard me nowMe, a despicable, disgusting beingBecause my flower must awaitA man, my husband, my only reason for livingYet I don’t understandWhy it withered under his manly touchMaybe it’d take another seasonFor dew drops to be seen.Priyanka Joshi is a 19 year old student currently pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology and Anthropology from St. Xavier’s College, Mumbai. She’s an intersectional feminist and her interests include writing, reading, cooking; or at least trying to.
The Sacred Flower : A Poem
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