Tag: Emotional Depth

  • A Tragic Fate

    A Tragic Fate

    A tragic fate ruled beneath a mournful autumn sky,
    A forsaken shade stood with a tearful eye,
    And a stare falling upon a distant stone,
    Where memories lay carved in bone.

    The winds had howled low; the trees had bent near,
    Whispers were carried, fraught with fear.
    A tragic fate, so cruelly spun,
    The story ended where it had begun.

    It was a gloomy tale of a life forever paused,
    A frail and fair existence swallowed by despair’s cruel snare.
    The wanderer watched as doom took its due,
    Helpless as its darkness grew.

    A wilted rose lay upon a grave,
    A token of a life once given.
    In nights that wept and days that knew despair,
    Absence haunted in hollow air.

    The earth was consumed, the coffin decayed,
    Life was reduced to memories soon forgotten.
    What solace could the grieving find,
    When death had left the world behind?

    The ravens summoned from their twisted trees,
    Evoked echoes lingered in the bitter breeze.
    Forgotten mortal fragments traced the path,
    To where the silent shadows did laugh.

    A chill resided in every gust of heft,
    Every sigh became a dirge that spoke of death.
    The sky hung heavy, draped in grey,
    As if mourning the world’s decay.

    In every shroud of mist that swirled,
    The darkness deepened, and silence curled.
    Beneath the ground, the roots entwined,
    To claim a body once divine.

    The clock ticked on, though spirits faded,
    Their murmurs were lost where graves were laid.
    And as the night unfolded its veil,
    The air grew thick with a mournful wail.

    Beneath the mournful autumn shade,
    Two souls rested, their debts repaid.
    The earth reclaimed its lost embrace,
    And time forgot each sorrowed face.

    In the gloom, an eerie glare burnt in all its might,
    It kept flickering dimly through the night.
    It wove between the gravestones’ gloom,
    A ghostly waltz, a dance of doom.

    At last, voices from the shadows called,
    They whispered tales of love’s great fall.
    The leaves rustled with each breath,
    Carrying echoes of untimely death.
    A tragic fate was inevitable for the eternity.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Withered Rose

    The Withered Rose

    In the garden’s heart, the withered rose once stood weak,
    Petals kissed by the sun, no longer adorned in velvet shroud.
    With each dawn’s deadly whispers, her colours ceased to bloom,
    Once a vibrant display that dispelled all gloom.

    Her delight rang clear in the soft morning light,
    As bees danced around her, a joyful delight.
    Her fragrance enchanted, weaving spells in the air,
    Every passerby paused, captivated and rare.

    But time, that cruel thief with merciless claws,
    Brought storms and droughts, testing all who could withstand them.
    Now the withered rose droops in silence, colours bled,
    Each crumbling petal was a monument to the dead.

    Once an enchanting wonder, alive and bold,
    Now, she cradles shadows where memories unfold.
    Each petal and leaf that fell softly told tales of the past,
    Of love unfulfilled and moments that couldn’t last.

    Her roots stretched deep, clinging to what once was,
    And even in fading, there’s beauty because
    In her withered form, a tale still to disclose,
    Of passion and sorrow, of boldness and woes.

    In the twilight, where silence now reigns,
    The withered rose stood alone, succumbing to grief’s sweet pains.
    A vestige of devotion, of dreams twisted tight,
    In the heart of decay, the past was enshrined.

    And as the seasons turned with a gentle caress,
    The rose revealed to the wind her distress,
    For in every ending, there lies a new beginning,
    In withering petals, the magic found its art.

    Dreams collided with the weight of the night,
    Each heartbeat a spell, flickers of light and dark,
    In twilight’s grasp, her memories ignited like flames,
    Fleeting shadows of instants lost to the night.

    Beneath the dark sky, silence twisted and bent,
    The withered rose waited, where sorrow descended.
    Each sigh became a lament, each desire a still end.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Unusual Loneliness

    Unusual Loneliness

    Unusual loneliness, like a trap of despair,
    In the silent hollow profundities of melancholy,
    Like waiting for nothing.

    Solitude was a tree in a landscape in black and white,
    Where no bird was seen flying in a cloudy sky,
    With no sun, no stars.

    Gardens of withered flowers, suddenly dead,
    We were cloaked by a cold darkness,
    While the wind silently touched every dead leaf.

    Obsessions and sweet anguishes were the only companions of dreamers,
    Daring to challenge the infinite abyss of darkness,
    In the absence of any comfort and solace.

    The ocean mirrored a void that swallowed the horizon,
    Its waves whispered secrets to no one—
    Each crest fell into oblivion,
    A rhythmic pulse, echoing an empty heart.

    Unusual loneliness became a captivating spell,
    In front of the infinite ocean, unifying with a cloudless sky,
    Neither sunrise nor sunset are allowed to rule.

    Indeed, in the chasm of this desolation,
    There was no cry, no scream to break the spell,
    Only the slow, measured breathing of a realm too tired to weep.

    Beneath the surface, creatures swam in circles,
    Trapped like thoughts repeating,
    Chasing themselves endlessly.

    Until the silence became unbearable,
    Shadows whispered in the void,
    And even the depths withheld their embrace.

    Solitude was a tree in a landscape in black and white,
    Where no bird was seen flying in a cloudy sky,
    With no sun, no stars.

    Unusual loneliness, like a trap of despair,
    In the silent hollow profundities of melancholy,
    Like waiting for nothing.

    Gardens of withered flowers, suddenly dead,
    We were cloaked by a cold darkness,
    While the wind silently touched every dead leaf.

    Obsessions and sweet anguishes were the only companions of dreamers,
    Daring to challenge the infinite abyss of darkness,
    In the absence of any comfort and solace.

    The ocean mirrored a void that swallowed the horizon,
    Its waves whispered secrets to no one—
    Each crest fell into oblivion.

    In the chasm of this desolation, there was no cry,
    No scream to break the spell could be heard,
    Only the slow, measured signing of a realm too tired to weep.

    Unusual loneliness was a strong ruler,
    No fool, no wise could escape its lure,
    In a kingdom of silence, vast and infinite.

    Beneath the surface of the sea, creatures swam in circles,
    Trapped like thoughts repeating,
    Chasing themselves endlessly.

    Until the silence became unbearable,
    And even the depths withheld their embrace,
    Since the darkness was too vast for escape.

    The mountains, once mighty and towering, now seemed worn and hollow,
    Their peaks were erased by time,
    As if they, too, were succumbing to despair.

    Each stone whispered tales of forgotten triumphs,
    Now, only memories lost to the winds of neglect,
    Fading into the silence.

    Unusual loneliness crept like a mist,
    Cold branches wrapping in a deadly twist,
    A silent grip no soul could resist.

    The sky, stretching endlessly, refused to colour the world beneath it.
    It held no promises, no passions,
    Just a blanket of monotonous grey.

    Even the rain, if it dared to fall, would weep in silence.
    There was no place untouched by the chill of loneliness—
    A world where sorrow reigned supreme.

    Every corner, every shadow, echoed the same quiet devastation,
    A symphony composed not of music but of absence,
    Playing to an empty audience.

    Even time itself seemed to crawl, hesitating with each tick,
    As though unsure if it should even continue,
    Caught in its own web of doubts.

    Unusual loneliness haunted the world,
    A wind of shadows, a formless snare,
    Dragging the mortals into its lair.

    Anonymous laments echoed in the distance—faint, deliberate,
    A wanderer perhaps, someone who dared to explore this barren world,
    Searching for something, anything.

    But there was no one else.
    No soul, no companion, no warmth,
    Only the endless cycle of overthinking and the ache of isolation.

    The mind wandered into mazes of memory,
    But even there, the colours had faded,
    And the voices of the past had grown faint.

    A lone figure stood by the shore, gazing into the nothingness of the sea.
    Their reflection, distorted by the gentle ripples of the water,
    Seemed more real than the person.

    Unusual loneliness wore the moon’s facade,
    A ghostly mask in an empty space,
    Draining light, leaving no trace.

    And in this moment, time itself became irrelevant.
    There was no before, no after, only this singular, agonising now,
    An eternal present where nothing changed.

    Where the world, once teeming with life, had become a still frame,
    Frozen in the throes of despair,
    A realm untouched by the hands of time.

    The atmosphere became oppressive, clinging to everything like a second skin,
    Stifling even the thought of escape,
    The dreams laboured to survive in such a world.

    Each sigh was a reminder of the poundage of existence,
    And, in the midst of all this, there was always something strangely awkward—
    Perhaps it was the predictability of the emptiness.

    Unusual loneliness penetrated the stones,
    A shout that hummed when everyone was alone,
    Weaving despair in every bone.

    The knowledge that nothing would bewilder the silence,
    No sudden joy, no sharp pain—just the steady hum of nothing,
    A bleak kind of peace.

    And maybe that was the true curse of this unusual loneliness,
    The temptation to surrender to it fully,
    To embrace the void as one’s own.

    To forget the world beyond,
    For what was the use in resisting when the darkness seemed so welcoming?
    The quiet called out, beckoning for surrender.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Broken Mirror

    The Broken Mirror

    The Broken Mirror
    by Esther Elizabeth Racah

    The broken mirror reflected a fractured world,
    Facades twisted in the distant light,
    The truth was lost as reflections swirled,
    Clarity faded into the night.

    Each crack told tales of dreams once whole,
    Fragments were part of a distorted show,
    Sighs echoed from the secret dwellings of fractured souls,
    In the broken mirror’s shadowed glow.

    Silvered edges framed distorted scenes,
    A face with sights that could not be seen,
    Reflections trapped in shattered visions,
    Lost within chaotic reverie.

    The silvery glass spoke in muted, splintered tones,
    Revealing truths twisted and blurred,
    A thousand shards held silent moans,
    Where broken images remained unheard.

    Each piece held a sliver of the past,
    A memory splintered and unclear,
    In the mirror’s grasp, shadows cast,
    Untangling what was once held dear.

    Fractured light created a maze,
    A labyrinth of tales left untold,
    In this mirror’s cryptic haze,
    The past’s reflection turned cold.

    A portrait shattered by unseen hands,
    Happiness’s tales lost in grief’s embrace,
    Mirrored fragments dispersed across lands,
    Of broken hopes and shattered dreams.

    The broken mirror remained a cryptic guide,
    A map of what was lost and found,
    In its shards, the truth tried to hide,
    Within a maze where secrets were concealed.

    Every shard held a story half-told,
    A glimpse into lives that had been,
    In the mirror’s shattered, fractured folds,
    Dwelled memories of what was once seen.

    The surface, once clear, now lay in pieces,
    A burst image of days gone by,
    The obliterated mirror retained its silent secrets,
    In fragments where shadows still lie.

    As the pieces lay scattered and cold,
    The reflections faded out of view,
    In the broken mirror’s cryptic hold,
    The past’s echoes bid farewell.

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