Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: doll

  • The Yellow Rose

    The Yellow Rose

    The yellow rose is my beloved flower
    She watches over me like a star in a dream
    She is always there for me, listening to me
    I love my yellow rose, and she loves me

    In my loneliness, I shun every human shape
    My only refuges are poetry, literature, art and flowers
    I am so overwhelmed by life that I cannot comprehend the sense of my fate
    And so, I abandon myself to decadence and beauty

    Daydreaming is one of my favourite solaces
    I can fly whenever I wish with my imagination
    Avoiding facing a reality and a society I don’t understand
    Feeling always different from others
    I cannot avoid to fall into the valley of despair

    My yellow rose watches over me like a guardian angel
    She is actually my angel, and I protects me from nightmares
    In my secret and hidden garden made of secrets and enigmas
    Where I can lose control of my emotions and be myself

    Panic spasms shake me in my slumber, surrounded by the darkest darkness
    And I can barely breathe, feeling invisible chains around my neck
    And a poundage on my body like an enormous demon of the night
    A ghoul that afflicts my heart with its sharp spear

    The sound of the night birds awakes me in my bed
    And I don’t see anymore my yellow rose that was just an illusion
    A beautiful delusional vision of my subconscious
    I’m all alone again and nothing can protect me anymore

    All my life has been a majestic nightmare
    A nightmare made of violence and survival
    An agony made of horror and demise
    Where there was no place for dreams and hopes
    
    Being voiceless and invisible has been always my reality
    In an existence where I never wanted to be alive
    Being but a doll, half alive and half dead
    A manipulated and deceived doll

    The yellow was my deliverance and the only companion I had
    But she never existed, for she was the fruit of my illusions
    She was the shining star I had always dreamed of
    And forgetting about this life
    I continue to dream because I’m only made of dreams and stars.
    Elisabetta

  • The Doll’s Curse

    The Doll’s Curse

    The doll’s curse lingered in a dusty attic,
    Beneath cobwebs and forgotten memories,
    Where shadows whispered of past misdeeds
    And echoes of laughter long since lost.

    Gossamer draped like spectral thieves,
    A doll sat motionless, with glassy eyes,
    Its eternal gaze fixed through the past,
    Silent, it spoke of secrets long surpassed.

    Once a cherished companion, now forsaken,
    Its smile, a frozen echo; joy had waned.
    The silence thickened, heavy with dread,
    As the doll’s head turned with a creak, an unseen thread.

    Moonlight filtered through the attic’s grime,
    Casting shadows that twisted with time.
    At night, when darkness wove its shroud,
    The doll awoke, its curse unbound.

    Porcelain limbs, once delicate, pure,
    Moved now with a malevolent allure.
    The doll’s eyes, glinting with ancient hate,
    Became portals to a nightmarish fate.

    As shadows deepened, the house would groan,
    With a spectral wail, a mournful tone.
    The doll’s curse, an eldritch spell,
    Lured the unwary to a darkened hell.

    Whispers floated on the cold, still air,
    Of lost souls trapped in eternal despair.
    The attic’s secret, buried in layers of dust,
    A curse born of malice and betrayal’s rust.

    Those who ventured into this cursed space
    Found their lives erased without a trace.
    Their screams, a haunting melody of fright,
    Echoed in the attic’s endless night.

    The doll remained, its gaze fixed and cold,
    Guarding secrets dark and old.
    Its eyes followed each unwelcome guest,
    Their fate was sealed by a malevolent quest.

    And as the years passed, its curse remained,
    A timeless horror, eternally unchained.
    The attic, a tomb of forgotten fears,
    Bore witness to the doll’s eternal tears.

    In silent watch, the doll endured,
    A symbol of dread, with a curse that lured.
    Its haunted presence, a perpetual blight,
    Cast shadows dancing in the dead of night, restless and bright.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Like A Porcelain Doll

    Like A Porcelain Doll

    Like A Porcelain Doll

    And it was like in a nightmare
    While I was lying inert on a cold bed like a porcelain doll
    I could not conceive why those things happened for a reason
    Maybe I was too naive to realise such closeness
    Perhaps I was too childish to protect myself
    Letting the submission paralyse my mind

    It never mattered who I really was
    It never mattered what I really desired
    Because the most important thing was social etiquette and fulfilled other’s desires
    I had to embellish myself like a porcelain doll
    I had to smile with my elegant dresses and impeccable makeup devotedly
    Some pretty bow in my long blond hair and a sumptuous dress as a daily routine

    I was empty, and I could not find myself
    Being constantly busy to be submissive and amiable
    Exhausted and broken
    I was never good enough
    And then, I had to lose myself
    Becoming who I was expected to be

    The echo of my silence was loud in my mind
    The only place where I was feeling safe
    Respect and love were remote chimaeras
    The coldness around me was freezing my heart
    My feelings being trapped in a desperate endeavour to be loved
    And trying to piece together scattered fragments of myself.
    Esther Racah

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