Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Category: Poetry

Poetry is one of my passions. In my blog, I will publish poems which I wrote. Hence I opened a separate category for poetry.  

During the years, I’ve read Italian, English, American, and French poems because, during my childhood, I learned those three languages. Only recently, I started writing poetry which I never wanted to publish. I believe that it is very personal to publish them. 

Although I’m a physicist, I started to read poetry during high school, mainly in Italian and English. Only home I was reading French books. Indeed, the French language and literature were not in my school program.

Writing poetry is one of the most intimate ways to express feelings and moods. Time to time, I will publish poems. 

  • 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

  • The Mirror Of Memories And Secrets

    The Mirror Of Memories And Secrets

    The mirror of memories and secrets appeared before me, in one of my many dreams that wandered through my long, sleepless and tormented nights. In the darkness of night, in my chamber of solitude and desolation.

    My nocturnal refuge had become my prison,
    from which I could no longer escape. The tall windows, adorned with Gothic ornament and stained glass depicting scenes from a bygone age, stood like walls of glass between me and the outer world—a world I could no longer touch, no longer reach.

    The ancient piano gazed at me in astonishment as I sat absorbed in my thoughts, completely lost in the labyrinth of my visions. I could no longer recognise my own reflection in that great mirror of exquisite and delicate craftsmanship—yet its reflection seemed cast beneath a spell, the origin of which I could not fathom.

    Dressed in a majestic, cumbersome gown of purest white, I could no longer see my reflection in that mirror. It was as though it longed to reveal to me my true image—not the one to which I had grown accustomed. Silence carved deep furrows in my heart, making me understand that utter solitude was my destiny and my dwelling place.

    Engaging in a soliloquy, I hoped to summon spirits that might assist me in my transformation—into a new, intangible entity, ethereal, no longer made of matter. So I searched, with my gaze, for references, for remnants of the past that might help me find direction, but in the end I understood: I stood within a dark and unfamiliar realm, a place that filled me with fear and awe.

    If I had been granted the privilege of a common and ordinary existence—the kind that most mortals, or nearly all, are given with ease—with all its hopes, its chances, and the facilitations that I have never known, perhaps I would not have found myself in that realm of unwholesome madness and aberrant hallucinations that followed me through the shadowed corridors of that castle of illusions and decay, whose walls were soaked in tears, piercing sighs, and the dust of lives long gone.

    The mirror of memories and secrets in truth, was not there to keep me company, but to reveal to me my true essence—my soul, and the image of my heart, defaced and torn apart by pain, torment, disappointment, and betrayal. It was no ordinary mirror; it was a portal to another realm—the world of souls lost in oblivion and in the torpor of death. A world that seemed a deep, infinite abyss, where despair and sorrow, regret and the memory of the dead shone like stars—but stars of a darkened light.

    And in that very world I remained—no longer a prisoner, but a part of that abyss, of that darkness and dimmed light, for my heart had not ceased to beat, yet my soul had ceased to shine.
    Lisa

  • Somewhere In My Dreams

    Somewhere In My Dreams

    Somewhere in my dreams, random thoughts enveloped my mind, and the bitter memories of what I have lost—of my buried treasures—saddened my heart.

    It was as if I had surrendered myself to my own steps, walking down an avenue lined with dead trees, and with closed eyes I had defied the wind, which whispered to me words and secrets I no longer remember.

    Weighted down by my anguish, I could not see a glimmer of light, of hope, that might guide me in a clear and lucid direction. All I could find was only chaos and fear—a dread that tormented me, the fear of never being able to grasp my dreams, of never being able to enclose them within the cage of my heart.

    As much as I longed to cling to life, to my plans and dreams, their manifestations fell into the abyss of emptiness—an abyss that sought to swallow me into its chasm.

    And I remembered all the principles that had been taught to me, shaped like a golden cage in which I was made to live my entire life—bound by rigid conventions, dark as chains coiled around my ankles and wrists, suffocating me like sly ivy twisting about my neck, its soft and slender leaves wrapping my face in a silent, silken strangle.

    No, absolutely not. Stupidity has never belonged to me, nor hypocrisy, nor superficiality. And yet, I have always stood beyond an invisible wall—between myself and other mortals, who have always found me unusual, strange, even impossible to define within their social and mental structures.

    Excessively extreme in my obsessions, in my feelings, in my passions and in my visions. I have always been—and still am—a visionary, a dreamer at the mercy of events that have never truly belonged to me, for even now I find their traces in the vault of my past, like fragments of memories scattered across the sky above my head.

    Somewhere in my dreams, I’ve got lost in the labyrinth of reveries, trying to find myself—but in vain, for, in truth, I have never known myself, and I have never found who I truly am. I have always lived with the illusion of knowing, the illusion that others spoke the truth to me—as if their words were pearls of wisdom, as if they could guide me.

    But in the end, what I found was only an illusion. Only betrayal. My heart has been permanently defiled by the torments of mortals and by the shadowy mirages that have always hindered my path.
    Lisa

  • Absolute Despair In The Heart Of The Night

    Absolute Despair In The Heart Of The Night

    Absolute despair in the heart of the night. Struggling, wrapped in the glow of the stars and surrounded by the absolute darkness of the night, in a silence so complete it deafens me and leaves me aghast.

    Caught between a world of dreams and a world of reality in which I cannot find a place, I try to understand my identity, I try to understand what my heart desires, and I try to invent a world where I can live without trauma and without deception.

    Searching for truth in lies and trying to conceal my feelings behind dead trees of complacency. I wander, disoriented, through the labyrinth of my dreams, which sometimes seem nightmares and at other times delightful visions.

    My vanity makes me believe I can attain all that I desire, yet in truth, what I receive is always the opposite of what my heart longs to devour within itself. In vain I invoke the names of the deities of the night, struggling, weeping, and sobbing.

    My voice fades into nothingness, into silence, into the torpor of my restless sleep. It was as if I could almost touch, almost grasp the emptiness with my hands, yet never gather the gems of my yearning.

    Surrounded by the fleetingness of beauty and the decay of my yearning, I let myself go, I let myself go, I surrender completely to my desires, both carnal and spiritual. It is as if a mysticism had engulfed me, rendering my body immaterial.

    Dazzled and dazed by the piercing brightness of the stars, I find myself in an immaterial realm, mystical and dripping with aesthetic lust and paroxysm of beauty.

    I lie in anguish, in the decay of my very own shadow. I am not ashamed to express my wonder, for I regard it as a pure form of admiration and magnificence toward something my heart cannot even grasp.

    Absolute despair in the heart of the night—it was but the fruit of my illusions and hallucinations. Silent, I stood like a marble statue, exposed to the harsh elements of a nocturnal storm.
    Lisa

  • Nightmares And Visions

    Nightmares And Visions

    Nightmares and visions visited me in the middle of the night, when sleep abandoned me to an otherworldly realm never seen nor imagined.
    The fog had clouded every vision, and I could see nothing but the shadows of faint images—spirits moving around me.

    My light sleep was nothing but a portal to a world where torment awaited me, and my heart was torn apart, again and again, without mercy. My gentle expectations had dissolved into the dark horizon, and I could see them no more.

    Indeed, I had become a creature of darkness, devoid of ambitions and expectations, for in truth what was destined for me was absolute emptiness—the total absence of life, love, and joy.

    How could I have held even the smallest hope of escaping that realm of darkness and despair? I no longer knew what life was—full of light, full of love, of hopes and delights.

    Had I been able to foresee my terrifying fate, I might have fled—perhaps among the clouds or the stars—if they had taken me into their realm.

    I might have been melancholic, perhaps—I don’t know—because at that moment I refused to accept any kind of feeling that my heart wished to embrace within itself. It was as if my heart had been torn from my chest and replaced with thorns.

    Pierced and betrayed by that world full of conventions, hypocrisy, titles, and useless materialism, I fled far away but fell into the trap of the world I myself had created in my visions—and that is why nightmares and visions were my most faithful companions, without whom I could not have survived.

    I breathed my last breath and, sighing, surrendered to the cold, sharp, and cruel embrace of the otherworldly realm.
    Lisa

© Esther Racah 2025. All rights reserved.