Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: magical realism

  • Possessed And Haunted By My Yearnings

    Possessed And Haunted By My Yearnings

    Possessed and haunted by my yearnings, I was bewitched by demonic creatures and exquisite ghouls, which I worshipped each night devoutly.

    My heart had been dilapidated and torn apart by mortal shallow caprices. I did cast fatal spells that broke bones and obliterated kingdoms. My cravings were my ruin and delight.

    I felt pierced by arrows of passion, and I could breathe ecstatic instants of decay. I sought self-destruction. I was willing to give my soul away to the frosty wind of the winter nights.

    All my cherished dreams had been turned to ashes of sorrow. My heart was just a bloody piece of flesh with no mercy for those who abused and armed. Thus, I surrendered to rage and revenge.

    I screamed all my fury to the stars at midnight, and summoned my beloved demons, which listened carefully to my prayers. Therefore, the most violent storm annihilated those who took me for granted and those who replaced me with shallow puppets.

    I recited my poetic verses full of esotericism and black magic in the worst moments of dismay and mortification. I sang to the sun and to the moon my anguish while crying tears of blood. I wished for oblivion and fearless vengeance.

    My terrible sobs eclipsed the sound of thunder and maelstrom. Possessed and haunted by my yearnings, I was sorely lacking in my innocence. Instead, I had become the embodiment of lust.

    I begged all the underworld creatures to calm my anger down. Still, the only possible outcome was a chant of revenge, wrapped in a black rope and sealed with the wax of black and crimson candles.

    I conjured all the infernal spirits and sublime spectres, my most loyal companions, and they responded to my call. They unleashed turmoil and devastation, and they took me with them into their realm of Hades.

    Surrounded by crystal skulls and stone flowers, I had become a sorceress and the queen of shadows and forbidden realms. In my heart, there were only poison and curses. I sought corruption and sin. I finally lived in the realm of feral cravings, of depravity and of merciless darkness.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • The Graveyard Of My Luscious Flowers

    The Graveyard Of My Luscious Flowers

    The graveyard of my luscious flowers appeared in all its majesty and magnificence, hiding arcane secrets and alluring spells of lost loves that were now just a scatter of dust and blood. My wicked heart had dragged me into the abyss of dismay where I had been pierced lusciously by devilish ghouls.

    In the certitude that no creature loved me but all that I could cherish was the despised portrait of my dreams, which had been buried alive in the graveyard of my luscious flowers. Sweet funeral melodies floated like a gentle winter breeze, making me melt like a snowflake under the sun.

    I huddled among the gravestones looking, for a trace of one of my flowers but I searched in vain because I found only slimy earth and ice. I could see shadows peeking out from the dry branches of dead trees, whose roots were soaked in despair and bones.

    An exquisite storm ripped me apart and stole my shattered heart, along with all my desires and dreams. I dared to chase all the stars of the night sky; nevertheless, I couldn’t find them because they were not there for me. I had altered into an ethereal entity. I wasn’t alive. I wasn’t dead.

    I fantasised about pointed shining swords and crimson incense, whenever a demon would seize me like a disposable porcelain doll. I wasn’t made of blood and bones anymore. I was a metaphysical creature made of turmoil and madness. Instead of a heart, I had an iron-made coffin.

    I embraced the realm of death and depravity, and like a fierce ghost, I hunted treasure chests with hearts locked inside. Because, I yearned for love and passion, like a flower in the desert craved water. I was an everlasting flame, and I was a frosty blizzard.

    I enjoyed being a wicked sorceress, ready to cast evil spells, and finding delight in my graveyard, confiding in my crows, skulls, and crimson roses. I amused myself by tasting sweet and bitter poisons and sipping the blood of my mortal prey. I swallowed nonsense and fire beneath the deep garnet moonlight.

    I was disdain and love. I was death and life. I was darkness and light. I was lust and virginity. I was madness and wisdom. I was corruption and purity. I was horror and beauty. I was cruelty and virtue. Everything lingered within me, and nothingness swirled like a tempest inside me as well.

    I was charred alive because of my foolish and insatiable lusts. Having no blood, flesh or bones, I was made only of fire and ice. Instead of a heart, I had an abyss of frenzy. My fondness for torture and stupor was infinite, like the oblivion of the universe.

    The graveyard of my luscious flowers was my agony and my bliss. All my blood had been splattered upon the stormy wind and all my bones had been reduced to ashes. My soul belonged entirely to the magical realm of demons and witches, and embracing the doom became my only dream.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Absolute Quietness

    Absolute Quietness

    Absolute quietness numbed me into a slumber that made me regret all my desires and reminded me of my foolishness. I might have forgotten who I was because of a plethora of my dispositions inhabiting my soul.

    I couldn’t clearly see what awaited me, since my fate was hidden beyond a gloomy swamp of illusions and deceptions. A forest of mangroves was discouraging me from advancing. Hence, I was retained by their leafy claws.

    I couldn’t discern between imagination and reality anymore, so profuse were the hallucinations I was enthralled by. I felt no fear or panic, but I could hear a lullaby of hoaxes tearing my heart with their delicate hooks.

    That hypnotic stillness was concealing my obliteration. A dreadful oblivion was awaiting me like adored prey. I had no choice but to become a tiny doll made of porcelain and withered flowers. And so I was cast away and I perished in dismay.

    All my lost dreams and eagerly guarded treasures resurfaced in the marsh of desolation and delirium. I had reached the edges of the realm of death.

    So forsaken was I in the chasms of my daydream that I had forgotten the presence of the stars on a majestic winter night. Truly, I had sought too long the sense of my existence, and I had never found it.

    In my absolute quietness, I had found chaos and tragedy. There wasn’t even a fragment of hope that I would be redeemed by my destiny. I had been cast away by the luminaries that glimmered in all their magnificence.

    The moon hid behind gloomy clouds so thick that it was impossible to ignore their yearning for spells and magical hexes. The sky’s immense shadows touched my swamp, melting in it like ethereal soap bubbles.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • The Realm Of The Sun And Moon

    The Realm Of The Sun And Moon

    The realm of the Sun and Moon
    Where ancient relics breathed in golden haze,
    Surrounded by tomes of forgotten tongues,
    Their pages whispering spells and silences.
    I know not if it was a dream or a waking fate—
    Only that I stood within that timeless place,
    Among winged spirits, guardians of old lore,
    Keepers of art, of secrets rare and bright.

    Amidst the briars and enchanted rose,
    Their fragrance weaves spells upon the air,
    I glimpsed the runes of magic, veiled in mist—
    Meanings beyond the reach of mortal mind.
    Yet, ignorance fades when the heart connects,
    And whispers join the silent sacred lore.

    Graceful creatures lingered in the air,
    Above, as if to spy the stars’ embrace,
    The firmament is adorned with pastel hues,
    Veiled softly by the twilight’s whispered clouds,
    That sometimes hinted at storms yet to unfold,
    A brewing tempest cloaked in quiet light.

    Within the sacredness and splendour of this realm of art and wisdom,
    I found myself in a state of amnesia and torpor,
    as if someone had erased all memory from my mind.
    I no longer recalled my past,
    Nor did I grasp the very notion of time.
    I had become part of that marvellous vision,
    that dream,
    that chimaera —
    untouchable and unseen by human eyes.

    All that my heart could grasp
    was splendour and sublimity,
    and the eternity —
    though fleeting —
    of all that my eyes perceived:
    The essence of beauty,
    and the essence of timeless wisdom.

    The realm of the Sun and Moon unfolded like a casket
    Of precious gems and arcane secrets.
    There I lingered, a captive and a nymph of the ancient library,
    Adorned with transcendent roses in full splendour,
    And with thorny briars, sharp and unforgiving,
    Poised to carve wounds deep within my heart.

    Sweet were the poems I inscribed
    Within its still-blank manuscripts,
    Each word etched by the whispers of my heart.
    And in the silence, the glow of the firmament
    Wrapped me gently in its hues—
    At times resplendent, at times shadowed,
    Like the mystery veiled within the night.
    Elisabetta

  • The Cemetery Of Fairies

    The Cemetery Of Fairies

    The cemetery of fairies
    lay before me
    In all its solemnity
    and hidden silence,
    where I sought refuge
    In my usual nocturnal flight
    from the nightmares—
    those sovereigns
    of my heart.

    Lay before me
    In all its solemnity
    and hidden silence,
    where I sought refuge
    In my usual nocturnal flight
    from the nightmares—
    those sovereigns
    of my heart.

    Star dust was falling over me
    like a midnight rain
    In a winter storm,
    cold and glimmering,
    silent as a magic spell,
    settling upon my hair
    like an ethereal veil
    woven from arcane secrets.

    A shroud of solitude wrapped around me
    like a protective barrier,
    rendering me invisible to others—
    And yet, at the same time,
    It made me a prisoner
    of a realm I could no longer resist belonging to.

    The pain I had always felt—
    It was like a kind of splinter
    pierced into my heart,
    one to which I had grown numb and accustomed.
    So many sorrows had scattered
    across my brief existence,
    leaving no trace among mortals,
    like a tiny, insignificant creature
    adrift in an immense ocean
    of infinite, scattered universes—
    unconnected, and forgotten.

    My silence was heavy with resentment,
    disillusionment, despair, and utter isolation.
    I stood within the cemetery of fairies—
    not the fairies of storybooks,
    But the ones who embodied my abandoned dreams,
    shattered and buried
    In a vast expanse I called a graveyard,
    Though in truth it existed only within my imagination.
    The scene before me was grim and mournful,
    for it mirrored my shadowed soul—
    a soul steeped in torment
    and numbed by the weight of impossibility,
    numbed by the stark realisation
    that I would never reach
    those long-yearned-for desires
    that had once set my heart alight.

    Sweet should have been the tender memories of my life—
    Yet I called them the ghosts of the past,
    for they haunted and tormented my sleep,
    filling my nights with unrest.
    In those troubled hours,
    My heart was relentlessly torn apart
    by the spears of demons
    Who, with dreadful solemnity,
    invaded my chamber unbidden.
    Elisabetta

  • Exquisite Brilliance

    Exquisite Brilliance

    Exquisite brilliance dawns upon the night,
    A tempest of stars, a gentle gleam,
    Whispering the secrets of their light,
    In dreams, they weave a silent silver stream.

    The moon, a sentinel in azure skies,
    A crescent smile illuminates the earth,
    Its tender glow reflects in phantoms’ eyes,
    And breathes to life a symphony of mirth.

    Beneath this firmament of endless stars,
    A forest stands in tranquil, hushed repose,
    The trees, like guardians of ancient scars,
    Hold stories that the midnight breeze bestows.

    The shadows swirl upon the forest floor,
    As fireflies paint trails of golden hues,
    A realm where myth and magic both explore,
    And nature’s song sings softly of its ancient tales.

    Upon a hill, a solitary pine,
    Stands regal, etched against the dark abyss,
    Its branches reach towards the line,
    Where dawn will blaze its fervent, fiery arc.

    Yet, in a fleeting, fragile hour of the night,
    The realm of reality surrenders to a gentle grace,
    Where time is paused and bathed in sacred light,
    A moment stolen from the day’s fierce chase.

    The waters of a silent, moonlit lake,
    Reflect the splendour of the stars above,
    Each wave reveals secrets that slowly wake,
    While dreams and nightmares seek the tender touch of delight and despair.

    And in this silent and metaphysical embrace,
    The night reveals its wisdom, pure and true,
    That even in the darkness, there’s a space,
    For bright-and-dim to find its way and gently woo.

    Exquisite brilliance, fleeting as death,
    Yet timeless in the memory it weaves,
    A whisper of eternity, it leaves,
    Echoing in the shadows, where silence breathes.

    So, as the dawn prepares to claim its due,
    Remembrance in the night’s serene expanse,
    The brilliance lingers softly, bright and new,
    A fleeting spark in night’s expansive trance.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

© Esther Racah 2025. All rights reserved.