Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: English poetry

  • The Kingdom Of Paradoxes And Absurdities

    The Kingdom Of Paradoxes And Absurdities

    The kingdom of paradoxes and absurdities was the place where bullying and arrogance reigned supreme, sovereign over vulgarity and stupidity. They wallpapered the walls of every place that held court in such a realm.

    Anything that could be imagined was both unreal and real at the same time. It could exist or not exist. Absurdity, however, was the master of the place. Thus, everything my logic deemed possible was tangible and predictable. In truth, it could neither take place nor be actualised in such sovereignty.

    I cannot say that I was dreaming, nor can I say that I was awake. In a state of shock and surrender of my ego, I could no longer even discern whether I was daydreaming or hallucinating. All I could say was what my sensations and perceptions made me feel in every part of my soul and heart, in every part of my body.

    Although I had firmly decided not to bend to the will of others, not to bow down or worship the conventions imposed on me persistently, I fell into a deadly trap—a kind of imprisonment, a state of captivity from which I could not free myself. Invisible chains that I felt and perceived in my body and heart held dominion over my life and my way of thinking.

    My jewellery box had been plundered. All my secrets had been revealed by indiscreet tongues. And my protection had vanished. It was as if I had become a defenceless flower in the midst of a threatening desert.

    I had to say goodbye to my version of myself, which was no longer alive. I had to say goodbye to all those visions that had deceived me falsely, when my naivety clouded my sight.

    In the kingdom of paradoxes and absurdities, I had to succumb and suffer. I had nowhere else to go. And the more I tried to escape, the more it seemed that this strange land expanded beneath my feet, preventing me from crossing its high and menacing walls. And what could the sky do but watch me, almost mocking me in an indifferent and cynical manner.
    Lisa

  • On The Verge Of Doom

    On The Verge Of Doom

    On the verge of doom, where shadows cling,
    Beneath the endless skies of decay, no light to show.
    A land of sighs and tears breathes its last, steeped in dread,
    As night consumes, the sun leaves all hopes dead.

    The scent of oppression pervades with shadows of despair,
    Each dream becomes an illusion as the world lies broken.
    The trees stand twisted, their branches bare,
    Grasping at the stars as if seeking solace unspoken.

    On the verge of doom, the silence reigns,
    A haunting emptiness of forgotten pains.
    The moon hangs dim, a spectre in the night,
    Casting ghostly glimmers, a wicked light.

    Raindrops fade softly along the cobbled lane,
    Where memories linger, steeped in anguish and pain.
    The castle looms, its towers cracked and worn,
    A sentinel of sorrow, where dreams are torn.

    On the verge of doom, in chambers adorned,
    With dust and despair, wraiths of phantoms curl.
    They beckon with tales of those lost to time,
    Of loves that withered, of life’s cruel rhyme.

    Hope strives to cling tenaciously to the edge of the night,
    A flicker, a spark, in the grip of the fright.
    But darkness devours, as it always has done and always will,
    And on the verge of doom, all battles are worthless.

    On the verge of doom, the silence hangs heavy,
    Darkness creeps upon all realms, its grip tightening fast.
    Desire turns to ashes, consumed by the keeper,
    In this hollow silence, all dreams are betrayed.

    In the echoes of silence, in the depth of the gloom,
    Lies the haunting refrain of impending doom.
    Among the shadows where the weary hearts dwell,
    Forever entwined in the web of the invisible.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • A Doomed Life

    A Doomed Life

    A doomed life, it once began,
    Beneath the sun and stars, life’s fleeting span.
    The days were bright, the nights serene,
    But shadows stirred, unseen, obscene.

    In the stillness of a forsaken night,
    These halls were walked where shadows bite.
    The walls, once lavish, now crumbled to dust,
    Held secrets of lives turned to rust.

    An ancient decayed portrait stares with dread,
    Watching over the chambers where dreams had fled.
    Fragments of euphoria, long decayed,
    Whispered of joy that darkness betrayed.

    Once there was light in this cursed abode,
    But fate, unkind, took its heavy load.
    The gardens bloomed with divine colours,
    Now twisted and tangled in death’s cold design.

    In those flowers, a tale was sown,
    Of hope abandoned, of seeds overthrown.
    Every petal fell like a broken dream,
    Drowning in life’s wicked schemes.

    A doomed life, it was said,
    From the lips of the living and the dead.
    The winds that howled through empty chambers,
    Carrying the weight of ancient tombs.

    The days of youthful grace are recalled,
    When love lit up each weathered face.
    But soon, the fates, with cruel disdain,
    Bound every heart in chains of pain.

    The storm rolled in with thunderous might,
    Crushing hope beneath the night.
    The fires of joy were smothered fast,
    Leaving only ash, memories cast.

    Nonetheless, these haunted walls were roamed by shadows,
    Listening to the silence as it calls.
    Every corner speaks of despair,
    A doomed life trapped within its snare.

    The halls, once bright with life’s fair bloom,
    Became the dwelling of endless gloom.
    Every gust, a fleeting sigh,
    In this place where all must die.

    And so the wandering goes on, lost and alone,
    A phantom in a house of stone.
    No escape from sorrow’s knife,
    Bound forever to a doomed life.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Despair and Hopelessness

    Despair and Hopelessness

    Despair and hopelessness feasted with silent dread,
    In the cold embrace of twilight’s breeze,
    There lay the ruins of forsaken dreams,
    A web of anguish woven with unseen seams.

    The ancient house, now shrouded in despair,
    With walls that groaned and whispered tales of wear,
    Stood solemn ‘neath a sky of leaden grey,
    Where hope had long since gone astray.

    Once vibrant halls now choked with dust,
    Held fragments of memories turned to rust,
    Windows fractured, eyes that never saw,
    Bore witness to a sorrowful history.

    Chandeliers, their crystals mournfully fraught,
    Cast ghosts of darkness that time had forgotten,
    While the hearth, bereft of warmth and grace,
    Held only shadows in its hollowed space.

    Every creak, a lament of bygone days,
    Every gust of wind, a mournful phrase,
    The very air, steeped in a spectral gloom,
    Carried whispers of a desolate doom.

    In the dim-lit corners of forgotten rooms,
    Rested fragments of unfulfilled blooms,
    A monument to dreams that could not stay,
    Consumed by the creeping grasp of decay.

    Despair and hopelessness filled the staircase,
    Winding in a mournful bend,
    Each step a cry of unspoken dread,
    Leading to realms where spirits feared treading.

    And as the night descended cold and still,
    The house enshrouded in its bitter chill,
    Became a memorial to the forsaken plight,
    A mausoleum for the fading light.

    In this place of despair and endless nights,
    Where hope had vanished from sight,
    The silence grew profound and stark,
    A gravestone to the desolate dark.

    In the ghostly silence, time itself decayed,
    And the weight of despair and hopelessness swayed,
    The walls whispered secrets of endless nights,
    Where shadows writhed in eternal fright.

    Beneath the starless sky’s oppressive dome,
    The house stood as a haunted tome,
    Each room a verse of mournful lore,
    A testament to what once was and not anymore.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Obscurity and the Night

    The Obscurity and the Night

    The obscurity and the night
    Swallowed the manor’s cursed plight,
    Its shadows were long and dark, a blight,
    A realm where all hope took flight.

    In the labyrinth of forgotten screams,
    Where darkness devours all fractured dreams,
    The manor loomed—a rotting shell,
    Its secrets were drenched in spectral hell.

    Whispers gnawed at shattered stones,
    As ghostly breaths chilled to the bone,
    Once-bright corridors were now twisted, torn,
    Where shadows were left forsaken, forlorn, and worn.

    The echoes of shattered sanity,
    Reverberated through infinity,
    Eyes from portraits, hollow and glazed,
    Gazed upon a world crazed.

    Books lay strewn in a frenzied mess,
    Their pages were torn in mute distress,
    Tales of madness, ink smeared and grim,
    Drenched in a nightmare’s dim.

    The obscurity and the night
    Had cloaked the manor in its fright,
    Where fragments of delight, lost in space,
    Stirred the dust in a frenzied race.

    Fingers traced through cobwebbed lore,
    Seeking meaning on the floor,
    The hearth, cold and decayed,
    Held memories of lives betrayed.

    Cracks in the walls, whispers lost,
    Echoing tales of a ghastly cost,
    A cacophony of shadows spun,
    Twisting ‘neath the spectral sun.

    Broken chandeliers wept their tears,
    As phantom laughter seared the ears,
    The grand staircase, once proud and tall,
    Crumpled in the night’s mad call.

    Ghostly figures waltzed in disarray,
    Their limbs a grotesque ballet,
    The air was thick with doom’s embrace,
    A void where hope couldn’t find its place.

    The obscurity and the night
    Held sway over every frenzied plight,
    Windows shattered, skies bled black,
    Stars devoured, no way back.

    The manor’s pulse, a frantic beat,
    A symphony of despair’s deceit,
    No dawn could pierce the raving black,
    No sun could force the night’s attack.

    The obscurity and the night
    Embraced the manor’s endless fright,
    A realm where sanity’s thread unravels tight,
    Lost forever in the obscurity of night.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Endless Labyrinth

    The Endless Labyrinth

    The endless labyrinth dwelled in a forest, deep and twisted tight,
    A maze lay hidden from the light.
    Its paths wound through eternal night,
    Where echoes whispered of lost fright.

    Each turn and corner led to despair,
    A maze of terror with no hope of repair.
    The trees grew closer, their branches gnawed,
    As shadows swirled around the clawing darkness.

    Lost dreamers wandered within its grip,
    Guided by whispers that would never slip.
    Their pleas for help were swallowed whole,
    By the labyrinth’s heart, where darkness took its toll.

    The walls, adorned with names of the lost,
    Bore witness to a chilling cost.
    Those who ventured, drawn by fate,
    Found their lives sealed by the maze’s gate.

    The endless labyrinth would claim its prize,
    Feeding on the terror in their eyes.
    And those who entered, never to leave,
    Were trapped forever in the dark reprieve.

    No light could pierce the dense and thick fog,
    No sign of longing in this sinister alcove.
    The air grew heavy and full of dread,
    As the dreams entered, their hopes were long dead.

    The labyrinth, a creature of ancient woe,
    Devoured the light, the flames, the glow.
    Its paths were twisted, wicked and cold,
    A monument to fierce nightmares.

    Fragments of life, faint and lost,
    Went astray through the maze’s frost.
    Each cry for help, each mournful plea,
    Merged with the maze’s eternal spree.

    The gardens beyond became a distant dream,
    As the labyrinth swallowed, all that gleamed.
    No exit was found, and no path was clear,
    Just the dark embrace of endless fear.

    In the heart of the maze, time ceased to exist,
    An eternal torment shrouded in mist.
    Endless paths led nowhere near,
    Trapped in a void of despair and fear.

    The endless labyrinth claims its own,
    And leaves the lost to wander alone.
    No escape, no final breath,
    Only the whisper of approaching death.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Forgotten Asylum

    The Forgotten Asylum

    The forgotten asylum hid in the valley of shadows, where echoes died,
    Its walls, crumbled and weary, were veiled by the mist where time had lied.
    Long corridors, wrapped in darkness, whispered with dread,
    A realm where the ghosts of mad and tortured, in their sorrow, bled.

    The halls had witnessed their last cries, their final pleas for release,
    Now silent except for the ghostly echoes of their inner disease.
    Iron gates, once symbols of imprisonment, now clanged with sorrowful wails,
    A haunting symphony of voices lost, drifting through the desolate trails.

    Broken beds, once resting places for tortured minds, now lay cold and still,
    Their occupants were gone, leaving only the echoes of their silent shrill.
    In the shrouded darkness of their final night, where daylight was barred,
    Their minds remained forever trapped, their spirits scarred.

    The night they came with lanterns dim, searching for what had been lost,
    Their steps disturbed the ancient dust, waking shadows at a cost.
    Each room they entered spoke of despair, each corner a sorrowful tale,
    Of spirits bound to this cursed place, their cries eternally frail.

    The night was crowded with eerie sighs as the moonlight cast its mournful beams,
    Dancing on hollowed eyes that stared, forever trapped in a spectral nightmare.
    The forgotten asylum was now a crypt of everlasting gloom,
    Where fear and sorrow merged in perpetual doom.

    Time itself seemed to decay within those forsaken walls,
    As the forgotten asylum’s curse wove its web through its crumbling halls.
    Tales of madness dwelled, clinging to the air’s chilled gust,
    A monument to agony, where echoes sought release from their endless death.

    Desolation seeped through the walls, and silence bore the burden of untold grief.
    As shadows stretched and sighed, embracing the forsaken lament.
    Silent screams of lost souls echoed endlessly through the abyss of darkness.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Realm Of Darkness

    The Realm Of Darkness

    The realm of darkness reigned over the valley of shadows,
    Whispers echoed of secrets long kept,
    Wandering through that eerie land,
    Where ghosts clung tight to cold and dead sand castles.

    The moon hung pale and meagre in the haunted sky,
    Casting a sallow glow where the ghouls lay.
    Hollow stares oversaw with silent dread,
    In a dwelling where the living had fled.

    A mansion loomed with windows cracked,
    Its halls lay silent and obscured by memories.
    Cobwebs shrouded each corner tight,
    As time became still in the endless nights.

    A frosty wind lingered among forsaken relics,
    An ancient place that harboured only quiet death.
    The walls hummed with tales of sorrow and woe,
    Of existences lost centuries ago.

    Doors creaked open with eerie sobs,
    Leading further where the darkness had grown.
    An ambience of doom and fear arose, but there was no escape,
    A suffocating silence filled the air.

    Through endless halls, shadows deceived,
    Each niche hid despair’s cruel snare,
    In a place where night clung to the air.

    A mirror waited in a forgotten room,
    Reflecting faces twisted in doom.
    One spectre stared back with eyes so grim,
    Trapped in the void, lost and dim.

    Once whole, now merely a part
    Of the darkness that tore apart.
    In the realm of darkness, forever to dwell,
    Dreamers were ensnared in the night’s cruel spell.

    Underneath the floors, shadows crawled,
    Restless dreams could not befall.
    Ancient fears were left behind,
    In the void where echoes bind.

    The wind howled through barren trees,
    Carrying with it ghostly pleas
    Of those who entered and never returned,
    Their stories of terror were forever unrevealed.

    An ancient clock ticked loudly in the gloom,
    Marking time in that eternal vault.
    Its pendulum swung like a centuries-old curse,
    Shrouding this realm in a veil of forgotten lore.

    Lights faded as shadows reigned,
    Trapped in a world of endless despair.
    No dawn broke that eternal night,
    Only sorrow beneath the gelid moon’s dim light.

    The realm of darkness lingered, forever lost,
    Where shadows wove tales of eternal night.
    In silence, memories were left to drift,
    Their essence was bound in the grasp of the void—
    An endless existence in a haunted dream.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • An Ephemeral Life

    An Ephemeral Life

    An ephemeral life had endured the shadows of dread,
    In a garden where roses had once bloomed bright and red.
    Petals, once vivid in sunlight’s warm caress,
    Had withered and crumbled in spectral distress.

    The sun, harsh and unforgiving, had scorched each bloom,
    Turning vibrant splendour into a sombre tomb.
    Moonlight, pale and ghostly, draped the garden’s decay,
    Casting an eerie pallor where the flowers had lain.

    The breeze, once gentle, had grown sharp and cold,
    Whispered secrets of a beauty that death had told.
    In the stillness of twilight, where shadows had crept long,
    The garden lay haunted by a mournful song.

    An ephemeral life of once vibrant blooms, now ghostly and frail,
    Had bowed to the earth, and their colour had grown stale.
    Each flower, a relic of a fleeting moment,
    Had succumbed to darkness and the deafening silence.

    The fountain, now stagnant, held the murky remains
    Of water once clear, now a grave for the chains.
    Its ethereal music had turned into a low groan,
    A dirge for the blossoms that the grave had known.

    The moon’s cold light revealed a macabre scene,
    Where beauty had faded, leaving only the obscene.
    The garden, once alive with intense happiness,
    Had become a crypt in the embrace of night.

    An ephemeral life, in the stillness that lingered, where shadows sank into the abyss,
    The essence of life had yielded to dismiss.
    An evanescent existence, now lost to decay,
    Wandered through the garden where time had slipped away.

    The sculptures, once regal, had frozen in their dismay and despair,
    Silent custodians cloaked in the chill of the air.
    Their features, carved in stone, tattered an expression of anguish,
    Glimpses of the fading archaic dreams and praises.

    An archaic ivy, creeping with tendrils so dark,
    Had embraced the remains of a once glittering spark.
    In the garden’s hushed sighs, the past had seemed to cry,
    As the fleeting delight had faded beneath the sky.
    An ephemeral life of what could no longer be redeemed from the doom of death.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Deadly Delights

    Deadly Delights

    Deadly delights had lingered in the abyss of shadows,
    In a mansion where traces of darkness were indelible.
    Chandeliers had hung low like tears of despair,
    Casting spectral glimmers through the still and stagnant air.

    The ballroom, once vibrant with delights and proms,
    Hosted relics of mournful romances.
    The once bright mosaic floor, alive with jest and joyful embrace,
    Now held the cold silence of an abandoned place.

    Each mirror, tarnished by the passage of years,
    Not anymore reflected joy but only spectral rips.
    Ghostly figures had waltzed in the chasms of the night,
    Their presence became a blur in the pale and waning light.

    Deadly delights hid behind walls adorned with portraits of faded grace,
    Had kept sights that stared with a mournful trace.
    Their gazes, hollow, had spoken of unrevealed secrets,
    Of mysteries that had faded away, turning into a bitter and cold breeze.

    In the antique library, where dust had cloaked every ancient tome,
    Archaic books had whispered of dark and forbidden spells.
    Their brittle pages had held tales of despair,
    Of pleasures twisted in the deadly stillness of the ambience.

    A grand piano, now covered in dust,
    Had once sung the passage of time.
    Its keys, now silent, had borne the weight of decay,
    Echoing the past where the dead dared to play.

    Deadly delights overwhelmed the gloomy garden, where roses had once bloomed red,
    The fragrance of death had lingered like a spectral spread.
    Petals, now blackened, had lain scattered in the cold,
    A witness of delights that had grown decrepit.

    The mansion had endured the grip of the darkness,
    A realm where delights had succumbed to fright.
    In its dim halls, where the past held sway,
    The fragments of deadly delights had silently fallen into the void.

    Creeping ivy had wound through the darkened halls,
    As the past’s grim shadows stirred on the walls.
    The giggles of euphoria had turned to frigid cries,
    In the mansion where faded elation mourned its dreams.
    Deadly delights, a lore to never be disclosed.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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