Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: identity

  • Somewhere In My Dreams

    Somewhere In My Dreams

    Somewhere in my dreams, random thoughts enveloped my mind, and the bitter memories of what I have lost—of my buried treasures—saddened my heart.

    It was as if I had surrendered myself to my own steps, walking down an avenue lined with dead trees, and with closed eyes I had defied the wind, which whispered to me words and secrets I no longer remember.

    Weighted down by my anguish, I could not see a glimmer of light, of hope, that might guide me in a clear and lucid direction. All I could find was only chaos and fear—a dread that tormented me, the fear of never being able to grasp my dreams, of never being able to enclose them within the cage of my heart.

    As much as I longed to cling to life, to my plans and dreams, their manifestations fell into the abyss of emptiness—an abyss that sought to swallow me into its chasm.

    And I remembered all the principles that had been taught to me, shaped like a golden cage in which I was made to live my entire life—bound by rigid conventions, dark as chains coiled around my ankles and wrists, suffocating me like sly ivy twisting about my neck, its soft and slender leaves wrapping my face in a silent, silken strangle.

    No, absolutely not. Stupidity has never belonged to me, nor hypocrisy, nor superficiality. And yet, I have always stood beyond an invisible wall—between myself and other mortals, who have always found me unusual, strange, even impossible to define within their social and mental structures.

    Excessively extreme in my obsessions, in my feelings, in my passions and in my visions. I have always been—and still am—a visionary, a dreamer at the mercy of events that have never truly belonged to me, for even now I find their traces in the vault of my past, like fragments of memories scattered across the sky above my head.

    Somewhere in my dreams, I’ve got lost in the labyrinth of reveries, trying to find myself—but in vain, for, in truth, I have never known myself, and I have never found who I truly am. I have always lived with the illusion of knowing, the illusion that others spoke the truth to me—as if their words were pearls of wisdom, as if they could guide me.

    But in the end, what I found was only an illusion. Only betrayal. My heart has been permanently defiled by the torments of mortals and by the shadowy mirages that have always hindered my path.
    Lisa

  • Absolute Despair In The Heart Of The Night

    Absolute Despair In The Heart Of The Night

    Absolute despair in the heart of the night. Struggling, wrapped in the glow of the stars and surrounded by the absolute darkness of the night, in a silence so complete it deafens me and leaves me aghast.

    Caught between a world of dreams and a world of reality in which I cannot find a place, I try to understand my identity, I try to understand what my heart desires, and I try to invent a world where I can live without trauma and without deception.

    Searching for truth in lies and trying to conceal my feelings behind dead trees of complacency. I wander, disoriented, through the labyrinth of my dreams, which sometimes seem nightmares and at other times delightful visions.

    My vanity makes me believe I can attain all that I desire, yet in truth, what I receive is always the opposite of what my heart longs to devour within itself. In vain I invoke the names of the deities of the night, struggling, weeping, and sobbing.

    My voice fades into nothingness, into silence, into the torpor of my restless sleep. It was as if I could almost touch, almost grasp the emptiness with my hands, yet never gather the gems of my yearning.

    Surrounded by the fleetingness of beauty and the decay of my yearning, I let myself go, I let myself go, I surrender completely to my desires, both carnal and spiritual. It is as if a mysticism had engulfed me, rendering my body immaterial.

    Dazzled and dazed by the piercing brightness of the stars, I find myself in an immaterial realm, mystical and dripping with aesthetic lust and paroxysm of beauty.

    I lie in anguish, in the decay of my very own shadow. I am not ashamed to express my wonder, for I regard it as a pure form of admiration and magnificence toward something my heart cannot even grasp.

    Absolute despair in the heart of the night—it was but the fruit of my illusions and hallucinations. Silent, I stood like a marble statue, exposed to the harsh elements of a nocturnal storm.
    Lisa

  • Mirrors And Delusions

    Mirrors And Delusions

    Mirrors and delusions surrounded me as I wandered through a labyrinth carved from my own expectations. Each hidden niche kept a secret, and each silent sigh was a vow that dissolved in the emptiness. I strived to hold distant glimpses I could never keep, and the more I yearned, the taller the walls grew.

    Wildflowers whispered legends about betrayal and wickedness. Sadness teardrops fell over me like jet ink, leaving trails of darkness on my uncertain way. Clouds of gloom and sorrow met in the sky, feasting on the ephemeral sense of existence. My silence was my words. I had no needs or ambitions to fulfil any more because my ego was obliterated.

    Hence, it began my passage into the liminal state. My distorted reflection in the mirrors could have been the fruit of my hallucinations or the effective image of myself. Everything could have betrayed me, even myself. There was no longer a sun in the firmament of this realm of lugubrious descent. Where fallacy and degradation ruled.

    Polished crystals shone their glimmer, not to guide, but to deceive as each light was just a false oath, drawing me deeper into the hollow abyss of this maze of madness. Lonely I was never since shadows and ghosts accompanied me whenever I would wander. Their countenances were dreary and appalling.

    Mirrors and delusions hid my truth and plundered my heart of innocence and hope. They filled my route with deceit and cruel traps. I had become invisible and voiceless in their dungeon of decadence and death. I had to surrender to their power and supremacy. I wouldn’t consider myself a wisdom keeper since my insanity grew like a flower among tombstones.

    No more farewell to my dreams, for they no longer belonged to me, but to the nothingness that now bore my name.
    Elisabetta

  • Impaled By My Own Grief

    Impaled By My Own Grief

    Impaled by my own grief
    Like a butterfly pinned to a wall
    I was standing on the cold soil soaked by my own blood
    Among withered flowers infused with the scent of death
    Embracing my misery as it was a bliss for my weak heart

    Slowly unveiling the image behind the shadows hovering high
    I discovered the reflection of my true self in their shrouds
    I cried out loud, running out of tears of despair
    Dressed in the sparkling veil that the luminaries made for me
    And wearing a crown made of thorns and roses

    All the most terrible memories introduced themselves to me
    They appeared like dreadful ghouls and wraiths
    Stabbing me with their sharp daggers
    Reducing me to a relic
    In the presence of crows and dead trees

    I was an empty shell without reflection or shadow
    Whenever I was wondering, it seemed I didn’t leave any trace
    But only blood and thorns, a representation of my miserable existence
    What I was I knew not
    I became an enigma to myself

    I collapsed like a wax sculpture
    As I was an extinguished flame
    With a body stitched by bandages and shattered dreams
    Each thread was a reminder of the pangs carved all over my body
    And my heart was a crushed crystal

    The gleaming moonlight created an aura made of silver
    Spectres were floating over me
    While I was waiting for the stars to guide me
    But no sign was there for me
    Only the deepest darkness and squalid solitude

    The cruel fate had decreed my end with the worst despair of my soul
    All my cries were dispersed by the cold wind of a winter night
    Nothing more was there for me
    I had lost everything dear to me
    And a storm wrapped me in its deadly embrace

    Impaled by my own grief
    I was the embodiment of my own tragedy.
    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 Am an Infinite Essence

    I Am an Infinite Essence

    I am an infinite essence, not a face nor a body,
    I am not a nationality nor a religion,
    I am not a temper nor a character,
    I am not my long blond hair nor my skin’s colour.

    I am not the scars etched on my soul,
    Nor the joy that dances in the light,
    I am not the silence of stories untold,
    Or the shadows that stretch in the night.

    I am not the title upon my name,
    Nor the career I chase in the fray,
    I am not the victories or the shame,
    Or the words I’ve spoken that led me astray.

    I am not the eyes that gaze at the sky,
    Nor the hands that reach for the stars,
    I am not the dreams that flutter and fly,
    Or the burdens that cling like invisible bars.

    I am not the laughter that spills from my lips,
    Nor the tears that carve rivers on my cheeks,
    I am not the journey of countless trips,
    Or the wisdom in silence when no one speaks.

    I am not the colours that paint my mind,
    Nor the paths that I’ve wandered alone,
    I am not the future I hope to find,
    Or the echoes of a heart turned to stone.

    I am not defined nor definable,
    I am an infinite essence, like the universe,
    A fabric stitched, forever bold,
    Each thread is a story, a cosmic verse.

    I am the multifaceted gem in the light,
    Reflecting hues of joy and despair,
    A mosaic of shadows, both dark and bright,
    Embracing each layer with the boldness to dare.

    I am the chains of the past that bind,
    However, I rise, unshackled, to embrace the new,
    In every facet, my essence is defined,
    A symphony of being, forever true.

    I am the whisper in the depths of the night,
    The pulse of the earth beneath the grounds,
    I am the spark that ignites the fight,
    The heartbeat of dreams, raw and sweet.

    I am the uniqueness that flows like a stream,
    Unbound by the labels that people assign,
    I am the flicker of hope, a fragile dream,
    A quilt of tales, uniquely mine.

    I am the silence that lingers, a tranquil embrace,
    The truth that transcends all the ways that divide,
    I am not a single reflection but a multifaceted blaze,
    In the vastness of being, I choose to abide.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • 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

  • Delving into the Darkness

    Delving into the Darkness

    Delving into the darkness, where shadows twist and writhe,
    A step beyond the threshold, a journey far from light.
    The whispers of the void grew louder, filled with grief,
    A world devoid of hope, where none could find relief.

    Once, there was a spark of life, a flame that dared to burn,
    But here, in this forgotten place, all flames refuse to return.
    The walls of night drew closer still, their cold embrace suffused,
    And in the pit of nothingness, my soul became unloosed.

    Delving into the darkness, the air turned full of dread,
    Each breath a hollow gasp, the weight of dreams long dead.
    The earth beneath my feet felt cold, a tomb of silent stone,
    The echoes of my footsteps—whispers of the unknown.

    No cries were left to utter, no tear to break the gloom,
    I merged with every shadow, a phantom of the vault.
    The ground no longer held me firm, nor the sky above my head,
    For in this void, I ceased to be—the living, now the dead.

    Delving into the darkness, all senses were soon lost,
    Time stretched into infinity at an unfathomable cost.
    The shell that once embraced my warmth was now cold, fragile, racked,
    The spirit that defined my being faded, lost, and sacked.

    A figure of a forgotten entity, I wandered through the shade,
    My name, my face, my history, all memories decayed.
    The world beyond had faded, its contours out of sight,
    And in this endless chasm, I vanished from the light.

    Delving into the darkness until there’s nothing more,
    A silhouette upon the void, unseen by any shore.
    I am the night, the silence, the fear within your chest,
    A remnant of a world erased, an eternal, restless guest.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Forbidden Pains

    Forbidden Pains

    Forbidden pains stirred in the depths of her soul,
    Unspoken whispers, shadows that stole
    Her every breath, her every cry,
    In the cold abyss where dreams go to die.
    She wandered through halls that none dared to tread,
    Where the air was thick with things unsaid.
    Ghosts of memories shattered and torn,
    Clung to the walls like a rose’s thorn.

    Her hands reached out to grasp what was lost,
    But time had ravaged at too high a cost.
    The weight of sins, unspoken and deep,
    Bound her in chains too heavy to keep.
    In every corner, her soul did strain,
    Against the shackle of forbidden pains.

    The windows, once bright with a hopeful light,
    Now mirrored only the eternal night.
    Her voice, a whisper drowned in the wind,
    Echoed the loss of all she’d have aligned.
    The halls grew tighter, the air grew thin,
    Trapped in a labyrinth of guilt and din.
    Her heart beat slow, her breath drew fast,
    A prisoner to memories that couldn’t last.

    She stumbled through visions of what could have been,
    Her reflection was a ghost on the glass so thin.
    Shattered pieces of who she once was
    Lay scattered in fragments, lost in the cause.
    Each step she took was a cry of despair,
    Forbidden pains whispered through the air.

    The portraits wept as she passed by,
    Eyes dark as the sorrow in the sky.
    The doors creaked open, but none let her flee,
    For her past had built the walls of this sea.
    No salvation in sight, no escape from the chains,
    Only the endless weight of forbidden pains.

    At last, she stood on the edge of her fate,
    A shadow waiting at the midnight gate.
    The stars blinked out one by one,
    As her soul unravelled, the thread undid.
    Forbidden pains, her eternal refrain,
    Echoed forever in sorrow’s domain.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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