Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: freedom

  • The Realm Of Crimson Roses

    The Realm Of Crimson Roses

    The realm of crimson roses was my treasure
    The secret haven of my desires for extravagant dreams
    The sweet and bewitching scent of the crimson roses drugged me
    It was like I drank the poison of oblivion for the very first time
    And I forgot my essence, bleeding my heart out

    I had visions and hallucinations like I was in an eternal sleep
    I saw beauty and magnificence in every corner of the castle of dreams
    Crying and smiling, I’ve finally found infinite delight in my abyss of anguish
    No pang could frighten me anymore because I was free
    Like a bird flying so high, it could touch the sky

    I belonged to the realm of crimson roses, and my heart was bound to it
    Through invisible chains made of love and death
    No slumber was necessary anymore because I was in a perpetual state of stupor
    Enchanted by a wicked spell cast over me, I could no longer abandon my state of captivity
    I was languidly mesmerised

    I surrendered to a throne of nightmares and dread
    It was made of crimson roses and adorned with long and sharp thorns
    So pointed were their punches pierced my heart
    Making me bleed until I became an ethereal creature of the night
    The pain freed me from fears and insecurities
    And I had not anymore a material body
    After all, I never lived in reality because I was born in the realm of nightmares and madness

    I knew not whether I dreamt or waked
    So dazed was my mind, I could not divine between vision and verity
    The realm of crimson roses could have been a spectre of my imagination
    Enchanting me like a nocturnal lullaby
    It suited my senses and hypnotised my heart
    A fleeting Utopia, born to wither with the dawn.
    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

  • The Portal To Emptiness

    The Portal To Emptiness

    The portal to emptiness was waiting for me
    In hesitation and doubt, I didn’t feel any comfort
    I didn’t trust what I was seeing or hearing
    All I could be assured of was a feeling of uncertainty

    It was as if I was living one of my several lives
    Foolishly embracing my madness with such joy
    Even the wind was terrified by me in its impetuosity
    Being myself, a little tornado of intense emotions

    Left by myself in my extreme solitude
    I sought refuge from my overwhelming grief
    Grief towering over me like a monumental demon
    Making me an insolent creature of the night

    Chasing darkness, I have finally found myself deep
    On the ocean floor of my imagination
    In my realm of wonders and chimeras
    I desired to find my utopic idyll

    My dreams touched me night and day
    All over my body like soft strokes
    Fantasies pierced my heart making it bleed
    With their sweet and sharp daggers

    I became a crimson rose, with all my petals tainted by blood
    And pointed thorns as powerful as diamond gems
    Although I was crying for my freedom from my roots and cold soil
    I had to surrender to my slavery

    And I could only dream over and over again without hope
    I cried and sobbed like a winter storm
    And I felt needles stabbing all my petals
    Arrows of anguish and awareness of my impending decay

    Nothing anymore could have released me from my huge distress and dismay
    I was merely a red rose and nothing more
    One of the several red roses of an ordinary city garden
    Nothing anymore could have been important to me

    The portal to emptiness was in front of me
    And now, I was made of dust and decay
    Decadence was my name and like a butterfly pinned on a wall
    I remained still as a crystal rose standing on a barren earth.
    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 Invisible Cage

    The Invisible Cage

    The invisible cage was tight enough to trap every dream,
    Chains made of silence had bound sighs and hearts in an endless void of despair,
    Where hope was swallowed whole, and nothingness reigned.

    Having wandered through shadows, searching for hope,
    Each dream had been a reminder of an endless fight and failure.
    Darkness and light were trapped within the confines of an unseen embrace.

    A realm depleted of colour and lost without a trace,
    Whose walls were made of disquiet and the ceilings of doubt,
    Each teardrop had been a reminder of the dreams that screamed out.

    Yearned for freedom that dared just beyond,
    A flicker of hope had kept the spirit fond.
    The fences and chains were made of silence and fears deeply sown,
    And each thought became a reminder of how far distress and anguish had shown.

    The invisible cage was unseen but powerful,
    Had held the wandering spirits captive for far too long.
    Each day had felt like a ferocious struggle, and the nights had been long,
    Crushed beneath the weight of what seemed so unfair.

    Stares had looked to the sky where eagles had soared free,
    While the stars remained bound, longing to flee.
    In the abysm of the imagination, rebellion had ignited,
    Boldness had broken through what once was blighted.

    Desires had been filled with expectations beyond the realm of shadows,
    As the senses wandered through the endless dark.
    Each belief had turned to chains that dug deeper still,
    Like a well without water or a promise that would never be fulfilled.

    Though the cage had been hidden, its power had increased,
    Everything turned to dust like shattered crystals.
    In the garden of distress, the nightmares had bloomed and thrived,
    Sorrows were carved on each leaf and petal.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Unopened Pages

    Unopened Pages

    Beyond the cover, realms await, unseen,
    In every book, a path to what has been.
    However, here prejudice stands, with its labels in the hands,
    Dismissing truths, it barely understands.

    The minds that bind themselves with endless chains,
    Are deaf to stories’ wisdom and knowledge gained.
    They close the book before it’s fully read,
    Content with titles, names, and what’s been said.

    But truth defies the cages they create,
    It bends beyond the lines that separate.
    For every story written holds a key,
    To unlock hearts and set the spirit free.

    To judge an essence by labels is to miss
    The depth of life, the beauty in the abyss.
    The page that holds the answers lies untorn,
    Nevertheless, senses stay closed, and ignorance is born.

    Beneath the ink, shadows twist and creep,
    Murmurs from forgotten worlds sleep.
    The words, like phantoms, haunt each line,
    Begging to be freed from the threads of time.

    More than the surface, deeper should they dive,
    For in those words, the most trustworthy self survives.
    The books unopened hold a thousand skies,
    And in their pages, prejudice defies.

    The label shouldn’t blind crowds from the tale,
    For in the written word, all hearts prevail.
    To open books is more than just a task,
    It frees the soul from every mask.

    And as the pages crackle in the night,
    A ghostly hand beckons toward the light.
    No thought confined, no mortal boxed away,
    For every story lives beyond the fray.
    The truth of existence cannot be simply named,
    It’s written comprehensively, with words that can’t be tamed.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Reign of Oppression

    The Reign of Oppression

    The reign of oppression had fallen on the land,
    In ancient days, when freedom’s garden had blossomed,
    The skies had been untainted by the foe,
    Its wings had unfurled, a beacon in the sun.

    The meadows had danced beneath the open skies,
    Their verdant hues had been untouched by lies.
    The rivers had sung in tones both pure and free,
    Reflecting realms of boundless ecstasy.

    Time had wrought a shift in fate’s domain,
    As freedom’s light had fallen to the chains.
    The voices that had risen in liberty
    Had been muffled by the reign of oppression.

    The banners that had fluttered in the breeze
    Had draped in silence, heavy with unease.
    The once-bright fields where dreams had intertwined
    Had been stilled beneath the reign of oppression.

    Where happiness had glided through the sylvan glades,
    Now mournful anguish haunted twilight shades.
    The grandeur of a realm once free and grand
    Had been replaced by iron rule and harsh command.

    The sovereign’s grip had tightened power sternly,
    Freedom’s echoes had faded, dim and worn.
    The courts that had once rung with the people’s voice
    Had been stifled by the reign of oppression.

    The skies, once clear, had been cloaked in dusky grey,
    As freedom’s sun had been veiled by shadows’ sway.
    The land had lain still beneath the reign of oppression,
    Where liberty had succumbed to iron’s chain.

    In the quiet, memories long faded
    Had sought to evoke all of freedom’s light, outclassed.
    The reign had ruled where once had freedom bloomed,
    Its dominance was a shadow in a silent tomb.

    Through fragments of the past and sighs departed,
    The stark reminder of a freedom thwarted.
    The hollow grave where once a spirit thrived,
    Now bore the weight of dominion’s drive.

    In endless night, no dawn would break the gloom,
    The shadows of the past were lost in doom.
    Where once was life, now silence held its reign,
    The void of freedom’s cry was left in vain.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Puppet Show

    The Puppet Show

    The puppet show, a stage in a gloaming hall where shadows crept,
    The scene was set for a macabre performance.
    Ropes kept strained by malicious design,
    As monsters revelled in their vile crime.

    Puppets jigged with blank sights,
    Their lifeless limbs were a grim disguise.
    Every jerk and every twist,
    A mockery of a soul dismissed.

    The hidden demons grinned with dark delight,
    Their laughter echoed through the night.
    They crafted their show with wicked art,
    Each thread became a noose around the hearts.

    With every tug, the puppets screamed,
    Trapped in a macabre, endless nightmare.
    Their movements faltered, then relented,
    To cruel hands that never repented.

    The audience of shadows sighed,
    Unmoved by the torment, they spied.
    For in this realm of dread and fear,
    Empathy had disappeared.

    Yet, in the depths where shadows dwelt,
    A whisper stirred a mournful knell.
    For even in their plight so dire,
    The puppets’ souls retained a fire.

    They yearned to break their cursed chain,
    To escape the cruel and twisted pain.
    Though strings were taut and hearts were cold,
    A spark of hope remained untold.

    In the darkest hours, when monsters slept,
    The puppets’ dreams began to creep.
    They plotted and schemed beneath the veil,
    To turn their torment into a haunting tale.

    For in their silence, a rebellion grew,
    A plan to overthrow their foes.
    The final act, a grand reveal,
    Where broken strings began to heal.

    A horror tale to be got by heart,
    In the midst of the night shadows.
    For even in the cruellest show,
    The heart’s defiance had yet grown.

    As dawn broke through the grim façade,
    The puppets rose, no longer flawed.
    Their strings were severed, freedom found,
    Their haunting cries were no longer bound.

    The monsters’ laughter faded to fear,
    As justice claimed its rightful sphere.
    In shadows’ depths, a new dawn gleamed,
    Where once was dread, now hope was redeemed.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Concealed Dreams

    Concealed Dreams

    Concealed dreams,
    Fly through the night,
    Hidden in shadows,
    Beyond the reach of light.

    Beneath the surface,
    They quietly glow,
    Awaiting their moment,
    A chance to vanish.

    In secret labyrinths,
    Where fantasy resides,
    They bide their time,
    And silently glide.

    In the night realm,
    They softly tread,
    Planting seeds,
    In the fearless imagination.

    Concealed dreams,
    Yearn to be free,
    To break the chains,
    And sail the sea.

    With dawn’s first light,
    They start to rise,
    Unfolding their wings,
    To kiss the skies.

    No longer hidden,
    Their voices whisper,
    Transforming the world,
    With the joy they bring.

    Concealed dreams,
    Under starlit skies,
    Woven in sighs,
    Where the quiet lies.

    They dance in twilight,
    Where wishes are spun,
    In the deep of night,
    Away from the sun.

    These dreams are sacred,
    Held close and dear,
    Unseen by many,
    But ever so clear.

    In the stillness,
    They softly bloom,
    Casting away,
    The shadows of gloom.

    Silent and patient,
    They gather might,
    Awaiting the dawn,
    To embrace the light.

    With each longing,
    They gain their form,
    Defying the tempest,
    Braving the storm.

    Concealed dreams,
    find their voice,
    singing of bliss,
    and the power of loss.

    No longer subjugated,
    They find their might,
    Painting the heavens,
    With colours so bright.

    From the abyss,
    They rise and gleam,
    Shaping the infinite,
    From a silent desire.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Paranormal Life

    Paranormal Life

    Paranormal life is taking place
    Missives from past and future
    A story behind good or evil
    However fair could be this time
    I do always move forward with a chance
    Irrevocable thoughtless by day
    I become made of things out of fantasy
    For years in future, I would not be found
    No matter how is senseless evermore to like what we believe
    I would be better going together in love and hate

    Paranormal life
    Where I have no place
    And the destruction of truth overcomes
    Since I was alone for so long
    And I couldn’t raise my notes
    So I lie down in time inside a real world I’ve made up
    Taking my time through a tough life
    My mind remains still in a moment
    which makes me feel sad
    My thoughts are gone

    Paranormal life
    A life where I can be lost in a world with no roads
    Day after day until tomorrow when the years will disappear
    I am safe as a mystery
    As the truth exists
    It will lead to the future
    Whilst I give up on what it’s happening,
    The reality is based on a need for an eternal journey
    My soul had overcome the darkness
    Releasing freedom from each desire

    Paranormal life
    Every inch of my soul remains unknown
    When I become honest with myself
    Obliterating every trust in love
    And from now, I am lost forever in my new dreams
    Until a new dawn begin for my novel life
    Coming back to an eternity of senses
    In a long life with no shared hope
    For each forgotten moment
    All the last words are gone to the end of time

    Paranormal life was a dream of a tragedy
    Where every fleeting fantasy has a hope to exist
    But no soul remains untamed and intact
    I left myself with a glimpse of imagination
    The beauty of my passions and illusions
    An eternal dream which is divine and belongs only to me
    With time, everything is found in my mind
    Being in a state of my own with no distress or anguish
    Vanity and mysticism exhausted me
    Living becomes no real, and the expectations sink into the dim ocean of nightmares.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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