Agents of Ishq Loading...

The Sacred Flower : A Poem

Reveling in your own touch & blooming with pleasure!

Image source 1 & 2

I toss and turn on my bed

Calmed, by my hands meeting the rosy flesh
The flower; they call it
Mine is a wild one, I comprehend
My hands trace the journey
Through the bushy wilderness
And come upon the flower's petals
And as I caress its innermost bud
Dewdrops appear
I barely muffle the delicate moans
That begin to escape my parted lips
For the flower within me blooms
As beautifully as the spring
Oh, only if they heard me now
Me, a despicable, disgusting being
Because my flower must await
A man, my husband, my only reason for living
Yet I don’t understand
Why it withered under his manly touch
Maybe it’d take another season
For 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. 
Score: 0/
Follow us: