Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

The Enchanted Manuscript Of Elisabetta Esther

  • The Collapse Of My Haunted Illusions

    The Collapse Of My Haunted Illusions

    The collapse of my haunted illusions began the night of my fall into the dark chasm of my fears, where I’ve been tortured by sharp thorns and daggers, penetrating my heart in every way, and making it bleed to the very last drop of blood.

    My soul was burning alive, and I could hear the screams of my dreams, alive and breathing, to get the last essence of my foolishness. I had tormented scars cherishing my grief and sorrow. All in the while of my transformation and decay.

    I was reborn and died oftentimes, as long as my heart was struck by the many thunders of madness and self-destruction. Everything could have obliterated me in the valley of despair and grief.

    I was bound to the chains of the deserted version of myself and obscure presages. The fate surrendered at the sight of the tower of my solitude, where I was the only captive in the presence of wraiths made of tragic illusions.

    My tragedy was an everlasting and bright gift, like a hidden treasure. I knew not what could be expected beyond the several doors that kept me locked up. I could have screamed all night long and no phantom would have heard.

    My tears were pearls anchored to my neck like sharp hooks, tearing at my skin. While obsessive fears were swallowing my soul, and as much as I might run, they hunted me wherever I wandered during my endless bleak nights.

    Loneliness was retaining me as a creature of its own realm. And the steadiness of silence besieged my delusional abode. My pierced heart dangled from the ceiling and its drops of blood traced sacred symbols on the frigid soil.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • The Night

    The Night

    The night opens my heart, made of tragedies and memories. Silence remains merely an echo of my anguish.

    Sweet is the thought of losing oneself in dreams when they become eternal whispers. The subtle play of revelations and allusions is a gentle kiss of love and passion that time does not disturb.

    Light and shadow merge into one another, in an absolute love. The flames of the heart feed on the solitude of the soul beneath the starlight that no longer shines to illuminate, but to recall lost memories.

    Endless games between illusion and wonder hide in the darkness of light. My sorrowful and shadowed heart has fallen into the chaos of eternal torpor.

    I am a volcano of fire and chaos, surrounded by shadows of anguish and restlessness. My guardians are magical crows and silent hares.

    In my solitude, melancholy and confusion are my faithful spectres that never abandon me.

    Drowsy and dazed, I find refuge in my silent torpor: the distorted mirrors are the signs of my resignation.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Dreams And Chimaeras

    Dreams And Chimaeras

    Dreams and chimaeras make me forget my worries and anguish.
    Surrounded by memories, broken mirrors, and interrupted cries.
    I lie languid like a flower stunned by the morning dew.

    Silence is a sweet melody that distracts me when I no longer understand where life is leading me.
    And in the night I hear the sound of loneliness like a sudden omen of abandonment and defeat.

    The darkness paints imaginary landscapes in my mind.
    The sound of the clouds reminds me to forget my name and hang my soul upon the shadows to rest.
    Leaden nightmares drag me down into the abyss of despair.

    Far away I can hear the screams of my fears calling out my name.
    So I take the chance to follow their trail in the obsidian forest.
    Where I try to find my image in mirrors that whisper to me.

    Murmurs of blood and betrayal appear to me as shapes of magic bliss.
    In my madness, I exist as a free bird of the night.
    Closed doors become gates to infinity.
    Forever bound to my lack of reality.

    I live in the surreal chasm to which I will always belong.
    Death and love blend like mysterious revelations.
    They own my flesh and my soul eternally.

    Imagination guides me toward the garden of illusions.
    I become the most delusional creature of the realm of shadows.
    Love caresses me as gently as a sharp dagger.

    My heart is in an everlasting bleeding.
    Foolishness possesses me, as I advance in my wisdom.
    What I thought would have destroyed me, gave me a sparkle of death.

    I was dead and I was alive at the same time.
    As an inanimate doll with a burning heart.
    The nothingness stared at me in its boundless ferocity.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Some Thoughts On My Poetry

    Some Thoughts On My Poetry

    My poetry is not for sale, it is open to everyone, everyone can read it. I have no mould, nothing in paper, it is all media, all virtual. People do not have to pay me anything, because everything is on the blog, accessible to everyone. It is also within the anarchic spirit of my understanding of culture, it is one hundred per cent accessible worldwide and in all languages. As I understand poetry, as I understand writing, it is like an act of loving free from interests and economic profit. And in the same way, when I express myself through writing, through my verses, I do not commercialise it. For me, poetry and writing, as I understand them, are free from economic speculation, and I allow everyone to read my poetry, at all hours, in all languages, but the main idea is to provide emotions, poetry, critical readings, all for free. I do not speculate, that is, I do not use writing to extract money, I give anyone the possibility to read a poem conceived as a form of free art. Mine is an act of diffusion of my art without involving money, and in my case I perform myself as if I were naked with my poetry. I have a concept of expressing my art and communicating what I truly feel and I do not commercialise my poetry, because I have a vision free also from political regimes, and above all free from editorial and commercial regimes. And even if in the end I gain nothing it is true, but on the other side mine is pure poetry, it is pure art, it is like loving, there is no commercialising of my art and therefore I do not deliberately commercialise my poetry. My literary performance is for those who love poetry, who love verses, free from constraints of publishing and artificial perfection. My literary blog is totally free from economic chains and from any form of constraint and control, because money is control and I see publishing as a dictatorial form of modifying a bold, wild, and rebellious form of art. My poems have never been manipulated to be commercialised and sold. No one and nothing has ever made my poetry appetising and digestible. I want to show and give to the world a form of art that is pure, untouched, free from editions, free from retouches, free from economic and political coercion, which ultimately does not fit into a commercial standard. My blog is a form of literary art that does not adhere to the rules of publishing, nor to contracts. It does not exist for me, when I publish a poem it must be the mirror of my soul, I do not want it to be manipulated by editors, I do not want it to be commercialised as a tourist-site gadget, that is not my art! My blog is a living and creative project. My blog is an artistic and literary project. And it cannot be associated with a printed poetry book. Mine is a pure form of poetry that comes spontaneously from my heart. Mine is not a tamed poetry, it is wild poetry. And it is an entity that also has its own independence. My poetry lives independently of me. I have created an entity that breathes and lives without my aid and without manipulations. I have not manipulated my poetry to make it desirable, and attractive to the public or to transform it into a more performative and more pleasant entity. Mine is not a poetry you find in paper books, because it will never appear on a sheet of paper. My principle is that its free and fluid form is such that it cannot be forced onto a paper page. You do not touch my poetry, unless you print it. But in principle it is only to be read and imagined. And it is not a sensory project. The only sense I want to activate is imagination and the sentimental perception of it. Because my poetry cannot be touched but only felt with the heart!
    Elisabetta Esther

  • La Notte

    La Notte

    La notte apre il mio cuore fatto di tragedie e ricordi. Il silenzio rimane solamente un’eco delle mie angosce.

    Soave è il pensiero di perdersi nei sogni quando essi diventano eterni sussurri. Il gioco sottile di rivelazioni e allusioni è un soave bacio d’amore e di passione che il tempo non perturba.

    Luce e ombra si fondono l’una nell’altra, in un amore assoluto. Le fiamme del cuore si nutrono della solitudine dell’anima sotto la luce delle stelle che non brillano più per illuminare ma per ricordare le memorie perdute.

    I giochi infiniti tra illusione e meraviglia si nascondono nell’oscurità della luce. Il mio cuore triste e adombrato è caduto nel caos di un torpore eterno.

    Sono un vulcano di fuoco e caos, circondata da ombre di angosce e inquietudini. I miei guardiani sono corvi magici e lepri silenti.

    Nella mia solitudine, la malinconia e la confusione sono i miei spettri fedeli che non mi abbandonano mai.

    Assopita e stordita, trovo rifugio nel mio torpore silente: gli specchi deformati sono i segni della mia rassegnazione.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Sinking Underneath The Ocean Floor

    Sinking Underneath The Ocean Floor

    Sinking underneath the ocean floor
    With a painful grief like chains of sorrow
    Feeling disoriented and lost
    Like the death had reached for my heart with its numbing breath
    While I was letting the water and earth take advantage of my body

    I felt dark shadows and gods from the underworld touch my soul
    They imprinted their fire branding upon my hand of clay
    The path was established for eternity
    And I awakened as one of their kin, reborn in shadow.
    Elisabetta

  • Bound By Starlight

    Bound By Starlight

    By the light of my magic candles, I evoke your name and your heart,
    holding you within my heart like a jewel kept in a treasure box.
    An invisible, golden and shining thread binds us in this silent, warm night.

    Amidst intoxicating incense and alluring scents, my spell draws you to me like
    a seal of stars etched upon the night sky,
    an invisible thread of gold weaving our destinies,
    a silent dance among shadows where time stands still.

    May you be the hidden key within the labyrinth of dreams,
    the voice whispered by ancient winds,
    and may our meeting ignite like a sacred fire,
    burning through mists, dissolving all distance.

    I evoke your soul on this dark night,
    illuminated by magic and arcane secrets.

    My heart belongs to you, and you alone.

    May the stars bond us in an indissoluble oath of love and passion, enchantment and devotion.
    Elisabetta

  • Between Dust And Mirrors

    Between Dust And Mirrors

    Between dust and mirrors
    I carried silent letters,
    wrapped in paper made of mist and waiting,
    not filled with confidence—
    but with enchantments.

    I did not know, yet I knew.
    The Sun had greeted me,
    upright, high—
    as in those cards that never lie.

    And I walked,
    through the lower kingdom of the nameless city,
    through the fractures of reality
    none of my sages could explain:
    a black swamp,
    where humanoid larvae and shrieking wraiths
    bared their shadowy teeth
    and brandished blades in the rancid air.

    All was corrupted.
    All was decay.
    Creatures of the underworld
    called me bright star,
    tried to seize me,
    to drain the last whole word from my lips.

    But I walked still,
    even with the Chariot reversed,
    even as the Hanged Man spoke from his unseen cross,
    even as the Moon, askew,
    laughed behind her veil of deception.

    I walked on,
    I proceeded with endurance
    carrying my letters of destiny
    and a name no one can pronounce.
    Unknown among the ruins of grandeur,
    a pilgrim between topaz and filth.

    And then I saw it.
    On the horizon, beyond the bridge of centuries,
    stood an enchanted castle.
    My cherished palace.
    Towers gleaming like guarded dreams,
    mirrored waters whispering of other realms.
    And there, behind an eternal glass veil,
    sat my holy icon,
    keeper of the visions and silence.
    A beacon for those who have lost their path
    but not the flame.

    However, atop those gilded peaks,
    behind windows lit by empty feasts and fools’ champagne,
    The puppets of excess laughed,
    tripping over their own void.
    There, power wears the mask of the jester.

    Nonetheless, between dust and mirrors,
    I carried sorcery and spells.
    Broken enchantments,
    witchcraft writhing in blood-stained claws,
    arcane revelations seeping from the soil like forgotten rites;

    Tarot glyphs ignite beneath cursed fangs,
    a pact inked in shadows and old essence.
    A thread of fate winds unseen,
    binding my name to the arcane roots.

    Thus I crossed
    the border between realms that do not convey,
    with a sharpened awareness
    of one who can no longer close the eyes—
    not even to dream enchanted chimearas.
    Elisabetta

  • Surrounded By Darkness

    Surrounded By Darkness

    Surrounded by darkness and evil spirits
    I wandered lost among dark shapes and whispered truths
    The thorns in my heart traced the path to my destiny
    While secrets and hidden tales were hiding beyond my control

    And I could hear the clock ticking in a rhythmic way
    Almost like a symphony of time and dreams
    Moving lyrical rhymes within my mind like leaves in the wind
    As if fate had determined that I was merely its puppet, to be used at its whim.

    I danced amid the heart of utter darkness
    Amongst phantoms and malevolent ghouls
    Surrounded by darkness and dark shapes
    They whispered secret truths I should be aware of
    They intimated to me to be careful and never trust

    I used my blood to carve all my verses on each stone I met
    While the pain tore me apart like soft cotton candy
    The scent of arcane spells and incense made me feel overwhelmed
    Bewitched by my own demons evoked through ancient tarots
    I lay down on a silent throne of illusions and deception

    So, I chose to remain in silence to seal an invisible oath.
    Elisabetta

  • The Infinite Abyss Of Despair

    The Infinite Abyss Of Despair

    The infinite abyss of despair and death
    In an endless tunnel of oblivion and loss
    I’m always there like a bound creature without free will
    I cannot escape from that dungeon deprived of freedom and choice
    Whispering to the rain, I wait for my end to arrive
    So much anxiety and fear crushed my heart into a thousand pieces
    And now I’m just a shadow of myself
    A creature invisible to the multitude who denies my existence
    A noose around my neck tightens almost as if it wants to strangle and annihilate me

    Hence I proceed without trembling towards my endless torment and agony
    In an infinite loop of life and death
    I continuously died to be reborn and I was ceaselessly reborn to die
    Now and forever
    Nowhere and everywhere
    Ensnared by voices that pull me downward — forevermore
    Seeking refuge among cloudy skies and storms
    Seeking salvation among the voiceless creatures of nature

    Wandering at the sound of raindrops and wind gusts
    Under the weight of guilt and unforgiveness
    Followed by the ghosts of those whom I once loved and cherished most
    I ended up in the infinite abyss of despair and misery
    While listening to the echo of my sighs and silent sobs

    Everything emptied my heart into nothingness
    Everything consumed me, reducing me to a voiceless pale phantom with a lifeless soul

    And suddenly obstinate sounds resounded around me
    They reminded me about the fragility of life and joy
    Indeed, everything was destined to decay and perish
    Even the silence in my heart

    The dark emptiness stared at me
    While I mourned endlessly my lost favourite affections
    In an endless funeral with bitter tears and sadness

    So I renounced every reflection of mine
    Living in self-loathing and contempt of my heart
    In the infinite abyss of despair and death
    Elisabetta

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