Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

The Digital Manuscript of Poetry and Literature by Elisabetta

  • Poetry

    Poetry

    Poetry

    My poetry is what makes me feel alive
    I’m my own poetry
    A ridiculous assemblage of floating words
    Words that meet and embrace each other
    In a vortex of feelings
    Feelings that are expressionlessly shapeless and unworthy
    I close myself into this microcosm to survive
    To survive all the tragedies which overrun this world
    And I cannot stop to tremble and be afraid of this society
    A society that is made of hypocrisy
    So I feel calm inside my sandcastle, waiting for a change
    A change which is arduous to happen
    I wander happily into the forest of my thoughts
    And I surrender to the harmony of my passions
    My emotions are like musical notes
    They gather together to create a musical score
    A musical score which is made of perceptions
    I’m overwhelmed by my emotions
    Feelings that keep hiding inside myself
    Sadness and melancholy swirl around me like soft feathers
    And they don’t leave me alone
    Now that I abandon my rationality, embracing my sensibility.
    Esther Racah

  • I Can Be Everything I Want

    I Can Be Everything I Want

    I Can Be Everything I Want

    I can be everything I want
    I can be nothing at all
    I want to believe in illusions
    I lose control of my mind like in a dream
    Beyond the bounds of the time
    I can float free in a chaotic ocean
    The waves of a sea which is made of dreams
    The dreams which follow me eternally
    Even in the most profound desolation
    Invisible as I am
    Invisible as I feel to be
    My voice is like the sound of a tiny raindrop
    Falling into the deep and dark ocean
    Nothing matters to me anymore
    My thoughts and my words are insignificant
    Thoughts that cause me to get lost
    I can be everywhere I want
    I can be nowhere at all
    But only in my dreams
    Where I can finally be myself
    Anyone else but me can witness this illusion
    My illusion which I call a dream
    And which allows me to survive.
    Esther Racah

  • A Silent Storm

    A Silent Storm

    A Silent Storm

    A silent storm was brewing 
    I could not remember well
    Since I was dizzy
    It happened to be in a night
    The silence was adorning my room
    And I could hear the sounds of a storm
    Faraway in a non-physical place
    I couldn’t see lightning bolts
    However, I could listen to the thunder
    All that I could sense was my perturbed soul
    So full of dark presages and emotions
    This silent storm was dark and gloomy
    It took possession of me
    I couldn’t describe its intensity
    Since my mind was dazed because of the despair
    Prisoner of my emotions
    I couldn’t say more than I’m writing now
    Sensations blended in a daunting turmoil
    With the impression and fear
    To be swallowed up by a deep and endless sinkhole
    Waiting for a peaceful haven
    I was going to be powerless as a leaf on the wind.
    Esther Racah

  • Hopeless

    Hopeless

    Hopeless

    Hopeless as I feel
    I perceive the emptiness of the dreams I didn’t realise
    Because it was arduous to believe in them
    Hence I have nothing to say but spare written words
    Words that keep me alive and conscious
    Nothing else is worthy of consideration
    Nothing else is worthy of belief
    Indeed every trust and hope is gone
    And I live a lifeless existence made of aborted dreams
    Dreams which are never going to be born
    It is too complicated to achieve something in this life
    It is too arduous to carry this burden alone
    Pleasures are just an illusion of the mind
    There are only sorrow and exhaustion
    I am senseless and apathetic
    Being surrounded by books and scattered notes
    As I realise my inner silence
    I can only succumb to the heaviness of their countless words
    There is a lot to discover in ourselves
    It is up to us to seek our inner peace and happiness
    Many reasons give us the life we own
    Few reasons can be intelligible
    Since most of them are inexplicable
    Although sometimes I feel hopeless, I rejoice in it
    Indeed, I wouldn’t exist without my crushed dreams.
    Esther Racah

  • Anymore

    Anymore

    Anymore

    I feel discontented
    My soul wanders
    Being aimless in every attempt to pretend a form of happiness
    It is too ambitious to aspire for a serenity that got lost
    Now and forever, the pains blend with all kinds of feelings
    And writing is the only way to survive
    Living in the poetry rhymes
    Not human anymore
    Not corporeal anymore
    In this process, no physical sense takes part
    The time stopped to breath
    Day and night are melt
    And the sun plays with the moon in the dizzy sky
    My eyes are open, and I gasp, holding my breath
    My feelings are frozen
    I cannot perceive any physical sensation
    My mind is in confinement
    And my only liberty dwells in my silent words
    Scattered like water drops on a meadow
    My lyrics are free to fly away from the absurdity of this physical world.
    Esther Racah

  • Torments

    Torments

    Torments

    Torments are everywhere
    Whenever I’m aware of my existence
    I lose my mind becoming unconscious
    Trapped in obnubilate nightmares
    Wrapped up in a dark mist of dreams
    No one can relieve my pains
    No one can rescue me from this endless struggle
    Besotted with intoxicating visions
    Falling into the darkest delusions
    The most intense passions are mere deceptions
    I decide to abscond to another reality that is waiting for me
    This time there are no torments
    Vanities and illusions fade away like evanescent clouds
    I’m more dazed than ever
    And suddenly, the dark space around me glows
    Astonished at the sight of silky gold wallpapers
    Sparkling mirrors and exquisite antique artworks
    Being the floor covered with embroidered velvet carpets
    In front of me, a majestic and shiny staircase lit up
    Once at the top, I found myself at a marble terrace
    There I could admire the most magnificent moon I’ve ever seen in my life
    This spectacle moved me to tears
    It was like a dainty painting
    My emotions could not refrain from blossoming
    And I could only be bewitched by the beauty surrounding me
    But on the spur of the moment, a terrible feeling of oppression arose
    And all my torments greeted me     ceremoniously
    They became nightmares which surmounted me unmercifully
    Bare branches of a tree obscured the brightness of the moon
    And I returned to my ancestral torments.
    Esther Racah

  • The Queen Of Spades By Pushkin

    The Queen Of Spades By Pushkin

    The Queen Of Spades by Pushkin is a masterpiece of international literature and one of my favourite books. It is one of the most well-known and famous novels by the Russian writer. 

    The Queen Of Spade

    The Queen of Spade is a short novel, which Alexander Pushkin published in 1834. This mysterious and minimal story takes place in Petersburg city. It is a tale where gambling and the supernatural find space in a bizarre and disillusioned ambience. The protagonist is Hermann, an army engineer, who loses his mind and becomes mad. The Queen of Spade’s style is detached, and there is a minimal description of the events involving Hermann, the old countess, and her godchild Lisaveta. I’ve read this short novel so many times that I barely remember how many!

    A Very Bizarre Tale

    Undoubtedly, The Queen Of Spades is one of the most unusual novels, which I’ve ever read in my life. It is a bizarre novel where reality and transcendent meet together. I would define it as a surrealistic book because of the oniric atmosphere. Hermann is obsessed with the three cards secret, which involves the Countess Anna Fedorovna. He is very captived by gambling and money. When the countess dies in front of him, he is indifferent and only bothered he couldn’t discover the three-card secret. After her death, the countess appears to Hermann in the guise of a ghost. She confesses to him the mystery of the three cards.  He uses the affection and sensibility of Lisaveta, who is a virtuous and naive girl taking care of the countess. Hermann becomes crazy because of the countess’s visions and obsession with the three cards (a three, a seven and an ace). He ends up in a psychiatric hospital, where he keeps repeating “A three, a seven and an ace”. 

    The Metaphor Of The Queen Of Spades

    The Queen Of Spades by Pushkin is a metaphor of the human obsessions with money and success. Hermann behaves like a predator, following his prey, Lisaveta. He is a fool, and he believes his focus will conduce him to victory. In the last card game, he makes a mistake, and instead of an ace, he will find the queen of spades with the resemblance of the countess winking one eye at him sarcastically. This novel is a supernatural tale, where the ambiguous Hermann is a man with a strong resemblance of Napoleon and the soul of Mephistopheles. In this book, the recurrent numbers are the one, three and seven, and the cell where Hermann ends up imprisoned is the number 17. These numbers could be a reference to the masonic symbolism. In this novel, it is evident that Pushkin describes the characters sarcastically. Hermann is a fool and stupid man, Lisa is too much naive, and victim of the countess and Hermann. The countess is a kind of ancient ornament, and Pushkin described her undressing scene with sarcasm. The famous composer Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky produced a homonym opera in three acts, with a slightly different plot.

  • Somewhere

    Somewhere

    Somewhere

    Somewhere in my phantasy
    I remembered to be in a garden
    There were flowers of all kinds and colours
    I felt disoriented, and I thoroughly enjoyed it
    My thoughts and worries faded away
    My mind was a labyrinth of emotions
    Memories vanished, and I supposed to be born again
    Suddenly I found myself near a fountain
    The golden decorations and the alabaster statues were sparkling
    In the deepest night, the full moon woke up brighter than ever
    The moonlight was reflecting on the water mirror
    The moonlight brightened up all the garden
    And suddenly, I couldn’t talk nor hear
    My only sense was my sight
    Little by little, my body became motionless
    And I turned into a golden statue decorating the fountain
    I still could admire the allure of the garden
    A secret garden where I could find refuge
    And I remained there till eternity
    Somewhere in my dreams
    I remembered a magic garden where the moonlight lit up the night
    And it was so shining that all the flowers were blooming
    The darkest night became the brightest one
    And the time wouldn’t be able to accomplish its intent
    Because that garden was timeless and unreachable
    My hidden garden somewhere and nowhere.
    Esther Racah 

  • Lost In My Mind

    Lost In My Mind

    Lost In My Mind

    Lost in my mind, I found myself
    Voyaging through a vast sea of thoughts
    I lost my direction in this universe
    I lost the purpose of this life
    Nothing can be recognisable
    Everything is lost and bemused
    I found myself lonely in a garden of solitude and despair
    Yesterday and tomorrow became one essence
    Time was only a chimaera
    A dreadful storm was brewing
    Lost in my mind, I couldn’t emerge from this turmoil
    Corruption and innocence gathered together
    The magnificent stars constellated the firmament
    With their veiled and unrevealed beauty
    I was swinging from fear to fear
    In a life that doesn’t get acquainted with plans nor hopes
    I can only enjoy my evanescence in the labyrinth of my dreams
    My soul is held captive in such distress
    Lonely and lost, I was wandering in the dark universe
    I remain speechless since the stars were staring at me
    Dancing stars blazing in the night sky
    I fell over a bush of roses more bewildered than ever
    And I was delighted and enchanted
    Being besotted with their insolent fragrance
    I lost my senses, and I blended in with crimson and blush roses
    It was a beautiful and marvellous dream
    Lost in my mind, I dwelled on this fantasy
    Exquisite and alluring roses surrounded me
    Nothing else mattered
    I got lost in my mind being careless of the consequences
    In an aura of enchantment and delight
    Crimson and blush roses captivated me.
    Esther Racah

  • Good Wives By Louisa May Alcott

    Good Wives By Louisa May Alcott

    Good Wives by Louisa May Alcott is the second book of Little Women. As they grow, the March sisters follow different life paths. The publication year of this novel was 1869; a year later of the publication of Little Women. 

    Little Women And Good Wives

    In Good Wives, the four March sisters are in their adulthood. I’ve found this book interesting and engaging. In this novel, which is a continuation of Little Women, the March sisters grew up, and they have different purposes in life. For example, Amy becomes a very educated and classy girl. She improves her knowledge of art during her visit to Europe. Meg is a wife and mother, and Jo becomes more feminine and sweet. This book is not just a “continuation” of Little Women. It is a new world, which discloses at your eyes once you have read Little Women. It worths your attention. This time the tomboy Jo finds an additional way to express her womanhood. Indeed, Jo March can balance career and marriage; in fact, she is a writer and teacher. Differently to Jo March, Louisa never got married.

    A Sour-Sweet Book

    Good Wives has a sour-sweet flavour because it is not a real happy ending novel. I felt sad about Beth, and each character goes through life events, which sometimes are challenging. Each of them has a fragile and robust nature. Moreover, Meg, Jo and Amy get married even though their personalities are pretty different. It’s like Louisa wanted that the girls settle for marriage to fulfil the nineteenth century’s social conventions. I think that the purpose of Louisa was to make the readers happy since the majority of her readers were women. Indeed, even though Louisa was not sure to write Little Women’s continuation, her reader affection and attention induced her to write Good Wives. But this time she got inspired by her fantasy rather than by her family. It is a sweet-sour book, which makes cry and smile, involving the readers in the characters’ several adventures.