Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: digital poetry

  • Untitled Hearts

    Untitled Hearts

    Untitled hearts in dark and empty corridors in which echo indifference and the squalor of a disconnected life of fake feelings of idolised hypocrisies and fame earned by serving masters with monumental bank accounts.

    Untitled hearts in search of fake loves and vain glories without a true purpose without a glimmer of honesty and authenticity. When authenticity is falsified and served under false appearances, without any honesty, without any decency, like a plasticised body full of silicone and fillers.

    And so what is served to my eyes, on social media and in this society,
    are falsifications and delusional images of what is claimed to be — but is not.

    Fake loves are shouted obsessively on the web, with the famous phrases “I love you,” “I love you humanity,” or “I love you all,” with emoji hearts and exaggerated emotion behind.

    And here is the theatre, the show of shouted feelings,
    as if they were prices of products to be bought at the market,
    without any depth or foundation,
    without any decency,
    or the intention behind what is being said.

    Uttered lies echo in the emptiness of the web and they are served on a silver platter as a source of wisdom and knowledge. Deception is dearly sold at high prices as the only source of knowledge and information when it’s only falsity.

    Black suits usually marry breast implants and injected faces, making a living selling false values as worthwhile truths.

    And in the deepest nights, the echoes of my nightmares summon mortals dressed in filtered dreams and gilded delusions. Their tongues are laced with deceptive slogans, while their blind eyes strive to find company and love in plastic and squalor.

    I keep walking through the bleeding honesty and truth in a dying world of wicked and cynical mortals. And although my skin doesn’t include silicon or fillers, I carry my imperfections and weirdness in my own odd way. Forever.
    Lisa

  • The Well Of Phantom Wishes

    The Well Of Phantom Wishes

    The well of phantom wishes
    Was the well of my disappointments
    Of all those illusions
    That had deceived me
    In a malevolent way
    With their allure
    And their way of
    Misleading me
    With fake smiles and phrases
    Like lines from a script
    But in truth, it was all fake
    Every single thing
    And every
    One I had known, glimpsed
    Were nothing but
    Delusional
    Realities
    Beneath
    A deception
    A cruel deception
    That dragged me down
    Into that well
    So deep and so dark
    That I could not glimpse
    Any
    Vision
    Any hope

    My tears were of no use, nor was my despair.
    My broken heart had shattered, like a crystal or stone ornament,
    its translucence and splendour reduced to dust and fragments,
    soiled by the cold ground, soaked in mud and decadent filth.
    That beauty I had once cherished within me
    had turned into a twisted transfiguration of my own reflection.

    What remained in my hands was dust and decay.
    I closed my eyes, and silence shrouded my thoughts,
    making them vague and fleeting like dark shadows
    that moved around me but I could never reach.

    One of my silver bracelets that shone like stars broke,
    and through its fractures, you could read my life’s illness,
    My malaise of living, my melancholic soul
    that had no peace and could find no place of salvation,
    lost among the clouds that darkened my mind.

    The pain was raining down on me like one of those cold and biting winter rains.
    Almost as if it wanted to scratch me and leave marks like painful and distressing memories that followed me wherever I went at any time.

    My sighs and sobs were mystified by that funeral silence of the endless night which had neither beginning nor end, and which wrapped me in its dark and misty cloak, almost to intoxicate me with its gloom and make me forget my infinite pain.
    Lisa

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