Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: confusion

  • 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

  • Infinite Stairs Of Waiting

    Infinite Stairs Of Waiting

    Infinite stairs of waiting
    The more I wait, the more I feel trapped in the dungeon of anguish.
    The more I climbed the stairs, the more I tried to ascend,
    the more it seemed I was descending downward with no result.
    All of this made me frustrated
    because I could not reach my goal.

    In my stillness I found myself,
    But at the same time, I lost a part of me.
    It was as if everything I had learned
    I had lost and forgotten,
    and everything I did not know
    I had unconsciously acquired.

    Confused and bewildered in a place of nowhere
    I strived to believe in my dreams but all I could do was fall from the stairs

    It was a game of illusion and reality.
    I had ceased to discern what seemed deception from what was truth.
    Both had blended together.
    It was as if there were no longer any meaning,
    and no longer any need to possess the domain of wisdom and knowledge.
    Everything had shattered into the abyss of ignorance and madness.

    And I proceeded on a thin thread between creation and destruction.
    My perplexities and hopes echoed as if they resounded through enigmatic structures, without meaning and expectations.

    Spirits that I could not discern, that I could not distinguish, whispered to me encouragements to pursue. But every time I fell and plunged into another flight of stairs, they laughed, almost as if to make fun of me — and to mock my inexperience and incompetence.

    In solitude I found myself lost, and there I languished like a creature from other worlds, indulging in my languor and melancholy; I was certain that I was towards myself and my image no longer had reflections in any mirror. The staircase was truly infinite like a steep ascent without end; there was neither a beginning nor an end, everything was an infinite perpetuity of distress and anguish.

    Infinite stairs of waiting were my dwelling for eternity, and there I had to… to… I didn’t know anymore.
    Elisabetta

  • My Illusions

    My Illusions

    My illusions concealed the bright stars and the moon. I was sure that I couldn’t rely totally on my perceptions and conceptions of life and dreams. I didn’t know anything, but the only thing I could do was cry in my loneliness on a long night when no stars and no moon were visible to my eyes. All my memories were hanging in my mind like paintings. They were like thunders during a night storm in the ocean whose foundation was made of nightmares and suspiciousness.

    Beneath the shadows of hollow trees, I found my dwelling to rest free from the clouds of anxiety and distress. No glooms of sadness could prevent me from looking at the night sky. Maybe it was just a dream, but I couldn’t avoid staring at the dark and starless firmament. I dared to question my senses, but all that I could obtain was confusion and dizziness. In a realm where everything seemed absurd, odd, and meaningless, I strove to find a sense in my ephemeral existence.

    I had ceased to comprehend what was truth and what was deception. The night with its frightful shadows and wraiths, became my loyal companion, so sweet and lovely. No one could ever separate us, not even for an instant. The magic wisdom of the gift of madness was so sublime and exquisite. Unique was the foolishness of my silent heart. Invisible and abandoned in the quest for my fate, I explored labyrinths and mangroves in the wilderness of my imagination.

    My illusions deceived me repetitively, as I attempted to sugarcoat my lonely desolation, deprived as I was of every solace and comfort. I saw the dirty squalor being put on the sacred altar of devotion and veneration. Mortal souls preferred profanities and obscenities to sublimity, beauty and virtue. The world of mortals was shamefully collapsing in front of my eyes and I preferred to shut myself down in my boundless dungeon of illusions, nightmares, dreams and hallucinations. To never be back to that false and tainted world.
    Elisabetta

  • The Labyrinth Of Dreams

    The Labyrinth Of Dreams

    The labyrinth of dreams
    Twisting corridors—endless—
    Shadows stretch—whispers?
    No sense—nothing makes sense—
    Lost, lost—where am I?
    Doors—open—close—
    Which way? No way—
    Every turn—a dead end?
    No—just another path,
    Another dream—
    Or is it a nightmare?

    Walls shift—breathe—
    Do they breathe?
    Or is that my mind?
    No—something else—
    The labyrinth of dreams is alive—
    It waits—
    For what?
    For me?
    Or something worse?
    I can’t tell—
    Everything blends—
    Dreams, nightmares—
    They are the same dreadful illusions.

    Fragments—memories—
    Pieces fall—
    Lost dreams—forgotten dreams—
    Where do they go?
    Into the labyrinth—
    Lost—like me.
    Wandering—
    Searching—
    For what?
    For an exit?
    There is no exit—
    Only more passages—
    More turns—
    More walls that shift,
    That trap.

    Turn—Turn—
    Is this the same hallway?
    Or a new one?
    I can’t tell—
    It’s all the same—
    Or is it?
    Nothing is real—
    Everything is real—
    Twisting—turning—
    The labyrinth of dreams never ends—
    Never ends—
    Where does it go?
    Nowhere—
    Everywhere—
    Lost in dreams—
    Dreams that aren’t mine—
    Or are they?

    Dreams… dreams…
    They unravel—
    Threads snap—
    Is this my mind?
    Or the maze?
    Who is dreaming?
    Am I?
    Or is the labyrinth dreaming of me?
    No way out—
    No way forward—
    Only the labyrinth—
    Only the dreams and the nightmares—
    Waking, sleeping—
    All the same here.
    Forever…
    Lost…
    In the labyrinth of dreams.
    A maze of my mind—
    A maze of other minds—
    It never ends—
    Twisting, turning—
    Into nothing. Into the abyss.

    Each step—
    Sighs—
    But are they my sighs?
    Or someone else’s?
    Shadows whisper—
    But what do they whisper?
    I strain to hear—
    Yet only silence answers.
    The labyrinth of fear shifts—
    Breathless—
    As if alive,
    Or alive with something—
    Something I can’t see.
    Familiar, yet foreign—
    Each corner, a new fear—
    Every turn, a deeper plunge
    Into the unknown,
    Into the endless maze.
    Lost forever…into the abyss of nothingness.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Uncertainty Of A Lost Dream

    The Uncertainty Of A Lost Dream

    The Uncertainty Of A Lost Dream

    The uncertainty of a lost dream in the realm of the blankness
    In the most remote place of the imagination
    Where every soul gets lost in the labyrinth of the darkness
    When it seems that every hope vanished and every clarity had been erased
    The silence whispers all the secrets that hover in the ethereal
    Where the deception and the honesty blend together, creating a profanity of senses
    Confusion and bewilderment become the sweet refuge of the dejected souls
    Miserable is the foul frolic of the spirits that lost themselves in the maze of the stupor
    Like in an endless nightmare that might fade as soon as the hallucinations vanish away
    When the torpor ceases to feed every spirited soul, once the despair rules the realm of the imperceptible.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

© Esther Racah 2026. All rights reserved.