Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

The Silent Manuscript By Lisa

  • The Magic Beneath Her Smile

    The Magic Beneath Her Smile

    The magic beneath her smile
    In a hush of varnished sight
    Her gaze held mine
    She was not senseless
    She was enigmatic
    A timeless masterpiece
    An eternal and sublime beauty
    As if she knew everything about me
    And all that I hadn’t yet dared to live

    Seventeen-seventeen was the arcane message
    She whispered to me in the gallery aura
    Like a cypher and a vow
    A painting is much more than a mirror
    It is the reflection of a soul into a thin surface of eternity

    The time became nineteen-nineteen
    Like wings folding back into the surface of my body
    An unlived existence was rising up from between my heart
    And it was not a fairytale or a legend
    But a secret signal and a door to another world

    Surreal fantasies became my realm
    And there I lingered silent and astonished
    Immobile like a sphinx with staring eyes
    Futile as I felt like the moments of bliss I lived in that magic kingdom of beauty and eternity
    An exquisite world where my heart beat again joyfully

    Vanity and ephemeral dreams took me to mysterious places
    Where I discovered new oddities and ancient secrets
    I wouldn’t be able to understand which spell had been cast on me
    I only knew I couldn’t resist the captivating labyrinth of arts

    The magic beneath her smile concealed arcane mysteries
    It wasn’t a prosaic artwork but a divine splendour
    Dressed in centuries of varnish
    Hid behind a shining crystal
    Surrounded by fragments of timeless magnificence.
    Lisa

  • The Ninth Seal

    The Ninth Seal

    The ninth seal
    Because the hour was nine. Or almost.
    Paris wept softly blue through cobblestones and gaslight.
    A monster came,
    not with claws nor teeth,
    But with wheels,
    A chained demon in place of horses,
    and the roar of hatred and madness disguised as an engine.

    He saw me.
    He chose me.
    He had determined that I had to die by his shameful hand
    The madman with the skull face,
    The carriage forged in a nightmare,
    drunk on fury,
    under a wicked spell,
    his infernal claws trembling not from fear —
    But from the thrill of ending me.

    And I,
    Just a girl in a pale embroidered dress,
    Crowned with strands of gold and unarmed,
    But not unguarded.

    For something stopped him.
    Something unseen.
    A force older than rot,
    stronger than rage,
    woven from secret whispers and gold light
    spilt from my angelic protector gaze.

    The wheels screamed.
    The demons reared.
    And time stopped to exist
    As the carriage froze inches from my heart.

    Behind me,
    two hags —
    with teeth like monuments and gums raw as hunger,
    bald as ancient ruins,
    laughed as if grace were weakness
    and survival, shame.

    Their laughter didn’t touch me.
    I walked on,
    not broken.
    Not bowed.
    My feet were flame and precious gemstones.

    I passed through death
    I passed through judgment
    as one who had died before —
    and been reborn
    With mirrors behind her eyes
    and dustless bones.

    No prayer was spoken.
    No sword was drawn.
    But a pact was sealed in starlight and crystal blaze.

    And so I say:

    Nine are the circles, nine the keys.
    I cloak myself in stone and destiny.
    He who looks sees nothing, he who listens hears no sound,
    But I stand guarded, armed with beauty,
    And no evil enters where nine times I have said yes.
    Lisa

  • The Oracle Of The Withered Roots

    The Oracle Of The Withered Roots

    The oracle of the withered roots stood silent above me,
    As I wandered beneath a sky split by its eye
    While silence whispered thunders and nightmares,
    And the origins of the world gnarled like a bone-stuffed monster
    Its speech was in a tongue older than rot.

    They called it the oracle,
    The tree that remembered all betrayals,
    and fed on forgotten truths.

    Around it, ash-walkers and crawling fates
    circled around the blue flame of judgment,
    and I, unnamed, felt the mark sear through my skin,
    As slashes that revealed my defeat and destruction.

    All kinds of nasty creatures surrounded me as I was their potential prey,
    They were ready to violate and devour me,
    They were there to rip my heart apart into infinite fragments of dreams.

    Each tree was the custodian of skulls and arcane rituals,
    As they moved forward their sacred flame,
    A blaze blue like the deepest abyss of solitude.

    Tempted to adore this blue flame or this blue fire by all these creatures that at times seemed obsessed by it, at times frightened.
    From these spirits and monsters, I could perceive fears and enthusiasts and enthusiasms that alternated in their life, which could not be called joyful, gentle, or even glad.

    The oracle of the withered roots gazed through its curious and overbearing eye, trying to peer into my heart, but in vain. My soul was a labyrinth of torments and delights, and being unable to discern its true essence, it grew angry with me and condemned me to a restless and uneasy life, to wander in search of myself.

    The skulls smiled at me with their grin,
    which seemed more like a mockery,
    as if to say: “Soon enough, you too shall join our kingdom.”

    The other winged creatures brushed past me
    With their curious, cunning eyes,

    as if to urge me to leap
    into the abyss of the unknown —

    At first, it appeared to be a small pond,
    in truth, it concealed a chasm of nothingness.
    Lisa

  • The Abyss Of Desolation And Affliction

    The Abyss Of Desolation And Affliction

    The abyss of desolation and affliction appeared to me in a dream.
    I could not tell if it was a hallucination
    or some malevolent spirit that had caught me
    in the torpor of my nightly slumber.

    Spectres appeared to me, agile and winged,
    Their claws etched marks upon my skin,
    As if to inscribe arcane messages
    Beyond my mortal grasp to decode.
    The moon shone bright and awe-inspiring above,
    An eternal night enveloped all,
    Where swirling clouds danced,
    A solemn escort to those shadowy phantoms.

    Figures cloaked in hidden mantles and hoods,
    As if unwilling to reveal their names,
    Lay inert along a river—
    At times, it was a still pond, and at times, it was a shimmering lagoon.

    I felt a weight of oppression and annihilation,
    As if all my feelings and desires
    Had been obliterated in the presence
    Of such a bleak and haunting landscape.

    I could not feel joy or enthusiasm
    At the very moment I realised
    That the slightest hope might be mistaken for illusion,
    Denying me the grace to surrender
    To my senses, to my subconscious.

    I walked with uncertain steps,
    So unsteady was the path before me.
    No clear horizon met my gaze,
    Only shadows stretching into the unknown.

    Having firmly shut the doors of the past,
    I had renounced all that belonged to that world,
    Memories included — or at least I tried to deny them.
    Yet certain ghosts of old, like skeletons risen from nightmares,
    Pursued me wherever I went,
    With steady, relentless steps.
    And I, breath held tight,
    Sought refuge in that realm of shadowy spirits.

    Monsters of a time long lost,
    They watched me slyly from their hiding places,
    Plotting behind my back a possible attack,
    A grasp for power, as if I were a helpless creature,
    Ready to fall into their claws.
    But truly, I knew well that my heart belonged to myself,
    And no one nor nothing could taint it
    With their corruption and decay.
    Lisa

  • The Realm Of The Sun And Moon

    The Realm Of The Sun And Moon

    The realm of the Sun and Moon
    Where ancient relics breathed in golden haze,
    Surrounded by tomes of forgotten tongues,
    Their pages whispering spells and silences.
    I know not if it was a dream or a waking fate—
    Only that I stood within that timeless place,
    Among winged spirits, guardians of old lore,
    Keepers of art, of secrets rare and bright.

    Amidst the briars and enchanted rose,
    Their fragrance weaves spells upon the air,
    I glimpsed the runes of magic, veiled in mist—
    Meanings beyond the reach of mortal mind.
    Yet, ignorance fades when the heart connects,
    And whispers join the silent sacred lore.

    Graceful creatures lingered in the air,
    Above, as if to spy the stars’ embrace,
    The firmament is adorned with pastel hues,
    Veiled softly by the twilight’s whispered clouds,
    That sometimes hinted at storms yet to unfold,
    A brewing tempest cloaked in quiet light.

    Within the sacredness and splendour of this realm of art and wisdom,
    I found myself in a state of amnesia and torpor,
    as if someone had erased all memory from my mind.
    I no longer recalled my past,
    Nor did I grasp the very notion of time.
    I had become part of that marvellous vision,
    that dream,
    that chimaera —
    untouchable and unseen by human eyes.

    All that my heart could grasp
    was splendour and sublimity,
    and the eternity —
    though fleeting —
    of all that my eyes perceived:
    The essence of beauty,
    and the essence of timeless wisdom.

    The realm of the Sun and Moon unfolded like a casket
    Of precious gems and arcane secrets.
    There I lingered, a captive and a nymph of the ancient library,
    Adorned with transcendent roses in full splendour,
    And with thorny briars, sharp and unforgiving,
    Poised to carve wounds deep within my heart.

    Sweet were the poems I inscribed
    Within its still-blank manuscripts,
    Each word etched by the whispers of my heart.
    And in the silence, the glow of the firmament
    Wrapped me gently in its hues—
    At times resplendent, at times shadowed,
    Like the mystery veiled within the night.
    Lisa

  • The Castle Of Betrayed Beauty

    The Castle Of Betrayed Beauty

    The castle of betrayed beauty
    a place of such magnificence—
    and just as much illusion.

    Many a feeling stormed my heart
    within that sacred place of deep devotion.
    I sought a refuge from my darker thoughts,
    yet found none.
    And so, I gave unbridled voice
    to all my heart and mind could then disclose.

    Drawn and captured by an eternal grace—
    a beauty untouched by time—
    The castle did not know that its fate would be so cruel
    as to obliterate even its memory.

    A heap of shards and debris would have remained in its place,
    Though its magnificence and wondrous splendour
    had no equal in the realm of mortal paper.

    Like a beautiful dream doomed to perish,
    So the castle of betrayed beauty vanished into nothingness,
    devoured by the abyss, by ordinariness, and by banality.

    Day by day, the wind, the storms, and the darkness had etched upon it—
    With such beauty—their marks,
    struggling fiercely to erase it into emptiness.
    And I realised that it was only a matter of time,
    and that nothing was permanent,
    no matter how strong the intention or desire for eternity.

    It had become my chimaera, my forbidden dream.
    I realised that all I had ever desired was lost—
    like dry flower petals scattered on the wind,
    leaving no trace, no funeral.
    Everything had slipped away
    as if fate itself had claimed the right
    to deny me a life filled with hope, solace, and joy.

    I had to suffer silently, watching my castle crumble fragment by fragment,
    becoming but a small part of it—
    as if I had lived within that place
    for all eternity,
    beyond the bounds of time.

    Alone and fragile, like a flower at the mercy of a storm,
    I found myself in the eternity of night and destruction.
    And my image shattered into a thousand pieces,
    just like my castle,
    before a mirror—
    before the mirror of… obliteration and oblivion.
    Lisa

  • The Castle Of Ghosts

    The Castle Of Ghosts

    The castle of ghosts was the fortress of my fears and anguish.
    The castle of ghosts also held my deepest terrors within its walls.
    It rose majestic and formidable on winter nights of solitude and storm,
    yet stood equally clear on silent, warm summer evenings.
    There was no season in which I could not glimpse it on the horizon—
    Each time I surrendered to my dreams
    and let my subconscious strike my heart,
    unlocking a secret chest filled with arcane mysteries
    and precious jewels.

    The voices I heard were those of malevolent spectres,
    intent on robbing me of my joy and my imagination.
    They sought to annihilate and utterly destroy
    all my dreams and visions—deemed by them mere madness—
    when in truth they were the very essence of my being,
    The essence of my heart, secretly nourishing my fantasies,
    those fantasies brimming with hope and desire,
    With stars and dawns yet to come.

    I could no longer entrust my secrets to any human soul,
    After all the harm had poured upon me like icy rain
    On a tempestuous night,
    while countless daggers and arrows pierced my heart and body—
    as if I were born and destined
    to a life woven with anguish, grief, powerlessness, and wretchedness.

    My heart was entangled in brambles,
    whose sharp thorns made it bleed perpetually,
    draining all the vital, creative energy I harboured within—
    leaving me a bloodless creature,
    devoid of impulses to guide me forward
    Along my dark and uncertain path,
    where every step was like a fragile, slender thread,
    ready to snap under its own frailty.

    Survived invisible storms,
    silent battles no one ever saw,
    I carried within me an armour of ash,
    hardened by time
    between fleeting shadows and light.

    The castle of ghosts was, in truth, the castle of my surviving selves—
    versions forged through countless traumas, abuses,
    and dreadful events that cast down my soul, my heart, and my body,
    to the point where I died many times over,
    only to be reborn as a new person each time.

    And now I had grown accustomed to losing all that I possessed
    only to gain something else—
    Something that would grant me another identity,
    another name,
    and another heart.
    Lisa

  • The Cemetery Of Fairies

    The Cemetery Of Fairies

    The cemetery of fairies
    lay before me
    In all its solemnity
    and hidden silence,
    where I sought refuge
    In my usual nocturnal flight
    from the nightmares—
    those sovereigns
    of my heart.

    Lay before me
    In all its solemnity
    and hidden silence,
    where I sought refuge
    In my usual nocturnal flight
    from the nightmares—
    those sovereigns
    of my heart.

    Star dust was falling over me
    like a midnight rain
    In a winter storm,
    cold and glimmering,
    silent as a magic spell,
    settling upon my hair
    like an ethereal veil
    woven from arcane secrets.

    A shroud of solitude wrapped around me
    like a protective barrier,
    rendering me invisible to others—
    And yet, at the same time,
    It made me a prisoner
    of a realm I could no longer resist belonging to.

    The pain I had always felt—
    It was like a kind of splinter
    pierced into my heart,
    one to which I had grown numb and accustomed.
    So many sorrows had scattered
    across my brief existence,
    leaving no trace among mortals,
    like a tiny, insignificant creature
    adrift in an immense ocean
    of infinite, scattered universes—
    unconnected, and forgotten.

    My silence was heavy with resentment,
    disillusionment, despair, and utter isolation.
    I stood within the cemetery of fairies—
    not the fairies of storybooks,
    But the ones who embodied my abandoned dreams,
    shattered and buried
    In a vast expanse I called a graveyard,
    Though in truth it existed only within my imagination.
    The scene before me was grim and mournful,
    for it mirrored my shadowed soul—
    a soul steeped in torment
    and numbed by the weight of impossibility,
    numbed by the stark realisation
    that I would never reach
    those long-yearned-for desires
    that had once set my heart alight.

    Sweet should have been the tender memories of my life—
    Yet I called them the ghosts of the past,
    for they haunted and tormented my sleep,
    filling my nights with unrest.
    In those troubled hours,
    My heart was relentlessly torn apart
    by the spears of demons
    Who, with dreadful solemnity,
    invaded my chamber unbidden.
    Lisa

  • The Emptiness Within My Mind

    The Emptiness Within My Mind

    The emptiness within my mind
    Is death inside my heart,
    With no golden cage, no precious gems—
    just silence folding round itself,
    no escape, no hope,
    Only absence holding tight.

    Exhausted and devoid of feeling,
    I lay upon the cold earth,
    strewn with withered leaves,
    fallen flowers,
    and shards of abandoned dreams.

    Weeping,
    I heard the intense sound
    of my tears falling
    on leaves shriveled
    by the cold wind of night.

    Nothing remained
    around you,
    around me,
    But only the vague memory
    of those anguishes
    that oppressed me
    and never ceased
    to pursue me.

    I no longer held
    any desire to desire,
    nor to keep
    anything within my heart.

    My heart had ceased
    to be a chest
    of my wishes and whims.

    It was merely
    an empty chest,
    emptied by the fury
    and storms
    that swept over me
    In my wretched existence.

    Not even the stars
    sparkled in the sky
    above my dwelling.

    The heavens refused
    to shine for me.

    Yet they had forsaken me
    to my fate,
    where no hope remained,
    nor even a small flame
    to bring me back to life.

    Whispers and murmurs
    came to me
    In the form of a misty breeze,
    laden with elegies
    and funeral hymns.

    Despair and anguish
    were gifts bestowed upon me,
    like dazzling joys
    that in truth did not shine at all,
    But bound me fast
    In a realm of cruelty,
    wickedness,
    and mercilessness.

    Helpless and fragile,
    like the petals of a well-bloomed flower,
    I could not withstand
    such impetuousness and violence of events,
    so hostile to me—
    like endless storms at sea
    whose fury knows no end.

    The emptiness within my mind
    had become a spirit that subdued me,
    against which I could no longer resist.
    At last, I became part
    of the abyss of oblivion,
    And there I remained for eternity,
    wandering like a cloud
    In a stormy, winter night.
    Lisa

  • Timeless Beauty And Melancholy

    Timeless Beauty And Melancholy

    Timeless beauty and melancholy—as a memento of human frailty and the fleeting passage of time, which devours everything it touches.

    Among tapestries, sculptures, and paintings I wander, without direction and without intent, as if I had lost myself in the labyrinth of my own imagination.

    Solitude no longer belongs to me, for the thousands upon thousands of spirits inhabiting these artworks are my friends and companions, guiding me along their path of beauty and magnificence.

    I sigh and allow myself to be lost in my own unconsciousness and infatuation, as if I were a creature born of my dream world.

    In reality, I live in my imagination all the time, just realising that the world built by mortals does not belong to the way of my mind and spirit. And that my heart can only beat in a realm of silence, beauty, and bliss.

    Though some shadows and anxieties sometimes distract me from my path, I remain ever aware of my steadfastness and of the balance I seek to embody and preserve, to survive within my realm of wonders.

    In the silence of the night, I found myself in a valley of revelations, secrets, and mysteries, and it was there that I perceived and was able to ascertain what my senses had made me perceive.

    And at the same time, it seemed to me that the flame of my heart was kindled ardently with love and delight in the presence of such a revelation, of which I was certain, for the spirits of art had whispered the truth to me.

    Even though my body longed for rest and oblivion, my heart beat fiercely in the presence of such a revelation and in the presence of such sublimity.

    And yet, even if torments, anguish, and dark shadows sought to terrify me and make my path and my existence unbearable, this pure and indissoluble love—so fragile—kept me alive, like a vital sap to a flower surrounded by thorns and predators.

    Timeless beauty and melancholy stood like sentinels around me, watching over my heart.
    And though I was exhausted by a wretched and atrocious existence, I found my centre of gravity.

    And upon the petals of intoxicating beauty,
    as if it were a marvellous flower,
    I found refuge and rest.
    Lisa

  • Twilight Shadows

    Twilight Shadows

    Twilight shadows have haunted me since ages past,
    granting me no peace, clutching at my heart,
    seeking to offer it to their jagged, divine limbs.
    Born free, I became a slave—
    In a prison whose bars and chains
    were unbreakable and unseen,
    visible only to me,
    As I perished day by day,
    destroying every single one of my dreams.

    Their song had hypnotised and enchanted me, initially.
    Then it became a funeral symphony, a mournful song,
    which followed me everywhere and gave me no peace.
    Although I sought refuge, tried to seek refuge,
    in the most hidden hiding places of my imagination,
    these spirits of the realm of shadows and torments pursued me everywhere.

    In enchantment and in fright, I found myself in a labyrinth of confusion and madness,
    where reality was hallucination and illusions were reality.
    I could no longer discern what my will truly desired.
    I could no longer understand whether my madness was my salvation
    or my wisdom was a source of death and oblivion.

    Fear and anguish had pierced my heart, which was now torn apart and could no longer hold any hope, any pleasure;
    And so my body was covered with marks and symbols carved into my skin like arcane and profane signs,
    sometimes mystic and sometimes sacred.

    And suddenly I found myself in a dark room of mirrors and shards that wounded me everywhere and tore my garment.
    So battered, I went on, trying to find a way out. Still, in fact, the more I proceeded, the deeper I ventured into the labyrinth of a world that did not belong to me,
    but demanded me and wanted my soul and my heart, even my remains as a deceased.

    Twilight shadows had become my only destiny, imperishable, unyielding and cruel,
    from which it was impossible to escape.
    I belonged to them like a helpless and powerless creature,
    without hope of ever having a future of light and beauty.
    Lisa

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