Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: dark beauty

  • The Realm Of Absurdities And Contradictions

    The Realm Of Absurdities And Contradictions

    The realm of absurdities and contradictions
    A world of pure bliss and madness
    Where dreams get lost and illusions blossom like flowers
    And in the abyss of despair and fear,
    The anguish held me trapped by their chains,
    With which they cruelly clung to me
    In their realm of darkness and madness.
    I, with all my heart, sought a successful way,
    a means to survive those unjust torments,
    But in my hands, I could not find
    a path of salvation and hope.

    The chasm before me made me glimpse my death.
    My future was marked as if my time were numbered,
    as if I could not enjoy the small moments
    That touched my mind,
    because of torment and the certainty of perishing
    overwhelmed my heart and clouded my mind.

    Shadows surrounded my figure as if they could confine me
    to a territory that belonged to them,
    scrutinising me with their cold and cynical gazes,
    Speaking a language I did not understand
    and whispering legends whose secrets I would never know.

    The sound of footsteps following me
    brought to mind all those dreadful encounters
    whose wickedness tore away a part
    of my veil of innocence and integrity.

    The sound of out-of-tune music boxes and grotesque melodies
    created images of folly and paradoxes,
    for I found myself in the realm of absurdities and contradictions
    where beauty was usurped by horror
    and where integrity was usurped by corruption.

    In this realm of hanging trees and hieratic statues,
    fires and flames burned unquenched
    like the brilliant stars in the sky
    whirling swiftly in the firmament above me,
    illuminating the dry, hooked branches
    of a twisted tree beneath whose shadow I had lain.

    Absurdity had become the sovereign of my fate.
    I was now at the mercy of capricious winds and rather contradictory events,
    Just as my miserable existence was entirely controversial.
    Elisabetta

  • 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.
    Elisabetta

  • 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.
    Elisabetta

  • Bearing The Yoke Of My Fate

    Bearing The Yoke Of My Fate

    Bearing the yoke of my fate
    I strive to stand up in a reality of tears and screams
    So often, I felt the overwhelming weight of my choices
    As if the sky had fallen over me like an antique drape
    And regrets swallow my heart, shattering it into pieces

    So, I remained alone in an empty chamber furnished only by silence and darkness
    And there I lingered, soaked in my hallucinations and sorrows
    I lost the sense of time
    I close my eyes, and I perceive the emptiness of existence
    The past and the present blend like colours on a canvas

    I wonder what the sense of my life was and is
    Is all the suffering worth it?
    Can my tears wash away my pain?
    It should be the time to lose control of rationality
    As if I want to pretend that I have some sparkle of wisdom
    Nevertheless, everything is vain, and everything will eventually be obliterated

    Bearing the yoke of my fate
    I wander in the vastness of desolation and indifference
    Should I have been dreaming all night, I knew not
    Because I wasn’t awake or as well asleep
    I only felt a sweet languor
    I only felt a sharp and atrocious pain
    Dragging me deep into the abyss of self-destruction
    Elisabetta

  • Beneath The Hollow Moon

    Beneath The Hollow Moon

    Beneath the hollow moon, I wandered behind shadows
    It seemed like a dream but it felt very tangible
    It was an ethereal feeling mixed with physical perceptions
    In a secret garden made of dead trees and withered blossoms

    The ephemeral veil of the night enveloped me
    I was an invisible creature of the night
    Hiding from mortal sight and dreaming with open eyes
    My visions and hallucinations had become reality

    The haze of darkness cast a spell on me
    Odd spirits offered me to drink from a goblet of poison
    It was a magic potion of oblivion and poison
    Whilst I sipped it, I fell into a deep slumber

    I had forgotten my name and the place where I dwelled
    I had become a ghost and a shadow of the night
    Imperceptible even to the stars and the moon
    I was lost in the labyrinth of my own nightmares

    I waited not for my death because I was no longer a mortal
    The sorrow and distress of the human world didn’t touch me anymore
    I was the darkness and the night
    Empowered but still a captive of this arcane underworld

    Every part of my incorporeal body belonged to this dungeon of royal decadence
    A victim of haunting eerie dreams, I had no other place where to go
    It didn’t matter how long I could have screamed my memories
    Nothing changed, and my fate stayed unaffected

    I had traded my freedom for a kingdom of death and ethereal phantasmagoria
    Beneath the hollow moon, I wandered endlessly
    Seeking my lost heart in the maze of resentment and silver coffrets full of secrets
    And each sigh of mine transformed into a raven rose.

    A heart full of sorrow and a crown of black roses on my head
    Nothing else.
    Elisabetta

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