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
