Tag: Existentialism

  • The Memories Of The Past

    The Memories Of The Past

    The memories of the past drag me into their swirling realm of despair.
    Alone, I find myself in a desolate place, a pit of the living dead—buried memories in the graveyard of my past. All I see are rows of lifeless trees.

    I pretend it is autumn, or perhaps winter, yet in truth this entire landscape is but a reflection of my dead and decaying soul.
    The darkness of the night does not frighten me—on the contrary, it is part of me. I am no longer who I once was; I have become a spirit of the night.

    The emptiness within me is filled with fears and regrets, and with all that I have lost unconditionally and irreversibly—things I shall never have again. And thus, the wreck of my existence: not only is it wretched, but also laden with pain.

    My cries of pain and my screams of despair are worth nothing. I have never been worth anything—only to wither my soul, already inscribed with daggers of disappointment and betrayals, inflicted by monstrous and mortally deplorable beings.

    All my crumpled desires and shattered dreams lie underground among the remnants of my memories and regrets. Left without emotions and left without words, I surrender to my nightmares, to my anguished obsessions that permeate my heart and tear it into a thousand pieces.

    My tormentors advance relentlessly, ready to tear me apart and destroy me in oblivion and forgetfulness. How much longer I must suffer, I do not know. I only know that cruel fate has entrusted me to the ship of the wretched and lost souls.

    The memories of my past haunt me insolently and give me no peace, and so I shall spend the eternity of my non-existence as a restless spirit.
    Lisa

  • My Illusions

    My Illusions

    My illusions concealed the bright stars and the moon. I was sure that I couldn’t rely totally on my perceptions and conceptions of life and dreams. I didn’t know anything, but the only thing I could do was cry in my loneliness on a long night when no stars and no moon were visible to my eyes. All my memories were hanging in my mind like paintings. They were like thunders during a night storm in the ocean whose foundation was made of nightmares and suspiciousness.

    Beneath the shadows of hollow trees, I found my dwelling to rest free from the clouds of anxiety and distress. No glooms of sadness could prevent me from looking at the night sky. Maybe it was just a dream, but I couldn’t avoid staring at the dark and starless firmament. I dared to question my senses, but all that I could obtain was confusion and dizziness. In a realm where everything seemed absurd, odd, and meaningless, I strove to find a sense in my ephemeral existence.

    I had ceased to comprehend what was truth and what was deception. The night with its frightful shadows and wraiths, became my loyal companion, so sweet and lovely. No one could ever separate us, not even for an instant. The magic wisdom of the gift of madness was so sublime and exquisite. Unique was the foolishness of my silent heart. Invisible and abandoned in the quest for my fate, I explored labyrinths and mangroves in the wilderness of my imagination.

    My illusions deceived me repetitively, as I attempted to sugarcoat my lonely desolation, deprived as I was of every solace and comfort. I saw the dirty squalor being put on the sacred altar of devotion and veneration. Mortal souls preferred profanities and obscenities to sublimity, beauty and virtue. The world of mortals was shamefully collapsing in front of my eyes and I preferred to shut myself down in my boundless dungeon of illusions, nightmares, dreams and hallucinations. To never be back to that false and tainted world.
    Elisabetta

  • Softly In Silence

    Softly In Silence

    Softly in silence, I lie to hide all the deception and lies from my naive heart
    I had to endure an existence of deceit and coercion
    Like a nightmare ghoul oppressing my pale slumber
    In an eternal night of haunting memories and wail

    I had constantly desired to be cherished and loved in vain
    I would have rather been remembered for my art than for my beauty
    So I preferred to hide behind my shield of silence and vanish into the ephemeral aether
    Like the mystic smoke from a burning flame

    Alas, in this silence, I remained quietly still like a crystal gem
    I was a withered bloom in a winter’s storm
    Unseen, unloved, forgotten
    Cradled in the embrace of the darkness

    I did not live for the sake of grace but for the grief
    Each heartbeat was woven in the dimness
    I was but a ghost wishing only to be mourned before bleeding my heart out
    Exanimate, I was sinking into a chaotic ecstasy of sorrow

    The eternal night cherished all my forbidden secrets
    Since I was forever bound to the dim dusk
    And every instant was midnight only for me
    Because I had obliterated time permanently

    I was born just as a punishment by the hands of my wicked fate
    Even the gleaming stars of the midnight sky had no mercy
    They stared at me indifferently as if my existence was just a futility
    I had lost every privilege to dream

    Just for a moment, I strived to change my fortune
    But I had no more strength to continue to exist
    All that I could do was stare at the walls of my dark chamber and fantasise
    I let the realm of dreams and absurdities swallow me

    I had to say goodbyes to the reality and normality
    I became a creature of a world of folly and oddities
    Only frenzies raptured my heart violently, and I let them in
    Softly in silence, I fell into the abyss of my own affliction.
    Elisabetta

  • My Blank Pages

    My Blank Pages

    My blank pages of life and stories teach me to embrace the enigma of my fate
    Whenever I think about my future
    I can only see blank pages of a book still to be written
    With my patience and perseverance, I try to love the unknown

    I always change mood like a cloudy sky that lets the sun shine through the haze
    Sometimes I feel like a flower that has been sunburned in the summer months
    Oftentimes I feel like a leaf falling from its tree under the influence of an unpredictable wind
    Everything around me is a reflection of my true self

    I always avoid mirrors to not let them swallow my soul
    Indeed, I am a perpetual dreamer whose real image appears through rhymes and verses
    I will never know myself for I’m an infinite abyss of mysteries
    And I even don’t aspire to get all the knowledge of this universe

    Always metamorphosing into someone new
    I wait for the time that doesn’t matter anymore
    As I see my shadow disappear beneath the night sky
    Wandering and getting lost in the forest of doubts

    I don’t have certitudes and I don’t know how to embrace my future
    Sometimes I believe that I love instability
    Sometimes I think that I have a predilection for blank pages
    I’m a blank page waiting to be written

    Paroxysm of emotions is my way of expressing my true essence
    I’m made of dreams and illusions
    I suffer unbearably and I love being delusional
    A romantic is never a loser but an eternal source of magnificence

    I will never bow to power and oppression
    I’m a free spirit and like a wildflower, I love to catch a glimpse of the sky
    While the pouring raindrops fall all over me
    I wait for my dreams to come true and for my heart to be consumed by madness
    As a book with blank pages, my inner senses yearn to be filled with both bliss and decay.
    Elisabetta

  • I Lived In Death

    I Lived In Death

    I lived in death, and the death lived in me
    As long as memories were within me
    As long as I relied on my dungeon of darkness and dismay
    The daggers of betrayal stabbed my heart and soul
    Numbing my mind in an eternal slumber for a decade of decay

    Foolishness was my wisdom and guide
    For I forgot my name at a time without the time
    In the eternity of forgetfulness of myself
    Living forcefully without the intention of life
    Doomed to solitude, numbness and death

    And so I wrote my despair and desire for not being any more
    Prisoner of fate and false scenarios
    I pretended to live believing in other truths and myths
    A spell of death and violence was written on my heart
    Still not free from the cage of demise and darkness.

    I lived in death, and the death lived in me
    Trusting the undying spirits of deception
    Captivating my heart and soul like vultures
    Avid of my mystery and innocence
    Having been thrown into a cave with no way out

    Slumber was my only loyal companion in my non-life
    Slammed doors and broken windows and screams the constant guests of my trap
    Explosions and metal dust were falling over my realm of nightmares
    Dreaming of not dreaming anymore forever

    Falling into unloveable harbours of uncertainty
    Being unintentional and detached in my survival
    Nonchalant about the future as I was destined to vanish
    Secrets and memories were pinning me down like a fallen butterfly

    I lived in madness
    Pretending to exist in a phantom reality
    Striving to scream but without success
    I’ve been an embalmed doll, trapped in a glass cage
    Untouched by love.

    My heart and lips have been sealed
    By the pins of sovereignty and hegemony
    Waiting to be forever free I feast upon myself.
    Elisabetta

  • The Embrace of the Void

    The Embrace of the Void

    In the embrace of the void, where shadows entwine,
    I surrendered my heart to the arcane silence.
    Here, in the stillness, all sounds had ceased,
    I found my own peace, but my spirit was leased.

    The night wrapped around me like a lover’s caress,
    With each sigh, I let slip a whisper of grief.
    I wandered through landscapes where no light could intrude,
    Lost in the abyss of a sorrowful realm.

    The stars above flickered like memories gone,
    Their light was just a glimmer, a glimpse of the dawn.
    In the embrace of the void, time slipped away,
    A moment eternal, where shadows held sway.

    I felt the cold raindrops of darkness draw near,
    A shroud woven tightly, instilling pure fear.
    Yet strangely, within this chasm, I discovered a treasure,
    A comfort in stillness, a profound solace.

    For what is the void but a mirror of myself,
    Reflecting the depths of my own anguish?
    I wandered unanchored, yet strangely at home,
    In the embrace of the emptiness, forever to linger.

    The silence, a canvas where thoughts drift and sway,
    In colours of longing, that time can’t allay.
    Each heartbeat was a reminder of love left behind,
    In the void’s deep embrace, my heart was unconfined.

    And so I perpetually abide in this realm of despair,
    Where shadows stroke me, and darkness stands revealed.
    Since, only in the embrace of the void, I am free,
    Forever entwined in this haunting decree.

    In the oblivion, I confront the phantoms that dwell in my mind,
    A haunting chorus of echoes, relentless and cruel.
    In dreams and nightmares, I’m lured into this desolate place,
    Hence, I embrace the infinite darkness, each shadow, each sorrow, each trace.
    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

  • Dead Dreams

    Dead Dreams

    Dead dreams haunted
    the hollow realm,
    where forgotten hopes withered
    beneath a sky
    of perpetual dusk.

    Once, this place had been
    crowded with life,
    with hope,
    with the vibrant pulse of chance.
    But those days were long gone,
    and now the only inhabitants
    were ghosts
    of forgotten desires.

    Regret lingered
    as sharp and suffocating as smoke,
    tainting everything
    it touched.

    Dead dreams lingered
    in the corners,
    hiding in the cracks of walls,
    in the dust that coated
    every room.

    The house was falling apart,
    its bones creaking
    under the strain of time.

    The windows were broken,
    the doors hanging loose
    on their hinges,
    and yet something remained—
    a presence, invisible,
    undeniable,
    watched from the shadows.

    Dead dreams whispered
    through the air,
    soft voices,
    insistent.

    They spoke
    of what could have been,
    of paths not taken,
    of futures lost.

    Their words wound
    through the halls,
    pulling deeper
    into the heart
    of decay.

    The walls seemed to close in,
    the rooms growing smaller,
    more suffocating.

    The air was thick with dust,
    with the weight
    of years.

    Dead dreams never indeed die;
    they fade,
    becoming one with shadows,
    with silence.

    The house would stand forever,
    a monument
    to what was lost,
    to what could never
    be reclaimed.

    In the end,
    it would claim all,
    just as it had claimed
    those who came before.

    There was no escape
    from the dead dreams.

    They lingered on
    long afterlife
    had left.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • A Doomed Fate

    A Doomed Fate

    A doomed fate had long been sealed,
    A cruel truth that time revealed.
    Each step they took, each choice they made,
    Led them deeper into the shade.

    The stars above, so cold, so bright,
    Watched as they surrendered to the night.
    In every breath, in every sigh,
    They knew that soon they’d have to die.

    The night had deepened, thick with dread,
    A silent pull towards the dead.
    No whispers now, no gentle breeze,
    Only shadows through the trees.

    A doomed fate had followed close,
    Like shadows that refused to go.
    They wandered through the years in vain,
    Bound by chains, they could not break.

    They ran but found no place to hide,
    For doom followed them, ever at their side.
    The hour struck, the time was here,
    And with it came a wave of fear.

    They faced their fate with weary eyes,
    Knowing well, no one survives.
    A breath, a step, a final cry,
    As they laid down their will to die.

    A doomed fate had gripped their soul,
    No freedom left to make them whole.
    No matter how they fought or fled,
    The path led closer to the dead.

    The end was hasty; the night grew cold,
    The weight of fate was so tight, so bold.
    And when at last the dawn did break,
    It found a soul the night did take.

    And in the quiet, still and grey,
    A doomed fate carried them away.
    In the silence, fragments of despair
    Spoke of dreams that hung in the air.

    A doomed fate had been fulfilled,
    No fight remained, no heart to build.
    Their life, now lost, became a tale,
    Of shadows abyssal and winds that wail.

    Each moment stretched, a fragile thread,
    Binding them to the path of dread.
    And when the shadows whispered low,
    They understood what they must forego.

    For fate, once chosen, could not bend,
    A journey with no chance to mend.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Sunless Path

    The Sunless Path

    The Sunless Path
    by Esther Elizabeth Racah

    The sunless path stretched endlessly before her, winding through a barren landscape where no light dared to linger. The sun had long since abandoned the world, leaving behind only a thick, oppressive darkness that seemed to swallow everything in its wake. She had walked for what felt like an eternity, her footsteps echoing hollowly against the earth. Still, no matter how far she went, the scenery never changed. There were no landmarks, no signs of life—only the path and the void that surrounded it.

    She could not remember when she had begun this journey along the sunless path, nor why. The memories of her past had faded into the shadows, blurred and distant as if they belonged to another world entirely. All that remained was the compulsion to keep moving forward, though she knew not where the path would lead. Each step felt heavier than the last, her legs trembling with the weight of an unseen burden. But to stop was unthinkable. The thought of standing still, of allowing the darkness to close in around her, filled her with a nameless dread.

    The scent of damp earth and decay surrounded her as though the world itself was disintegrating beneath her steps. She breathed it in with each ragged gasp, and it settled like a stone in her lungs. The silence was absolute, broken only by the sound of her contrived breathing and the soft, relentless thud of her treads. There were no birds, no insects, no wind to stir the dead leaves that littered the ground. It was as though the world had been drained of all life, leaving her the only living soul in a place where life no longer belonged.

    She had tried to turn back once, but the sunless path had twisted beneath her, warping into something unrecognisable. Her sense of direction had vanished, and the more she tried to retrace her steps, the further she seemed to stray from any semblance of escape. The path was a labyrinth with no end, a cruel trick played by forces she could not comprehend.

    Despair gnawed at the edges of her mind, whispering to her that there was no destination, no salvation waiting at the end of the journey. She was trapped in an endless cycle, a prisoner of the sunless path and the darkness that clung to it. And so, she continued to walk, forever lost in the sunless void.

© Esther Racah 2025. All rights reserved.