Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: melancholia

  • Whimsical Chimaeras

    Whimsical Chimaeras

    Whimsical chimaeras blossomed in my garden of extravagant flowers and frenetic trees. When the silent valley of dreams was crammed with forbidden hopes, and the stars never hesitated to shine. It was my delusional fantasy and my secret inner world, where I could be free from mortal dogmas, made of aberrant rules.

    Many nights I have wandered, embracing my silliness and uncommon turmoil. Foolishness was my only state of mind, and every portal could unlock for me. I wept, and I sighed, as if it were my only way to express myself. The cold night wind hushed my aching heart, filling it with fear and torment.

    The snow painted the soil with white crystalline hues, while my slumber had kept my heart from aching more copiously. I had lost the capability to listen to melodies, but all that I could hear was a fanfare chanting death and defeat. My whimsical chimaeras had transformed into shadows and darkness.

    I had become a stranger in my own realm, which I couldn’t recognise any longer at all. I felt like I was stripped of all my delusional dreams, which I considered my only comfort and sweet haven. No candied flowers or chocolate-coated leaves prospered in my garden, which was now nothing but a land of frost and thorns.

    The reality had transmuted into a sharp dagger, depriving me of every longing, for I had lost my strength to escape from that snare of descent. Melancholia burnt my heart, transforming it into an everlasting torch. I encountered no compassion or tenderness, but pointed hooks that ripped me apart.

    My heart was wrapped in thorns and quills, and it bled copiously. Unbearable pangs crossed my body, reducing it to misery and dismay. Shallowness had taken over, and what appeared loudest and most false had replaced what was authentic and sublime.

    Darkness, together with the moon and the stars, was a cynical witness to every single occurrence. Silence had sealed my lips, and I was no longer able to make a single sound. Definitely, my whimsical chimaeras were just a remote memory of my shattered mind.

    I was already buried before dying. I was buried a long time ago by the hands of my delusional fantasies and absurd expectancies. I was conscious of my decay and that I would soon embrace my final demise. In that exquisite garden of bygone flowers, I lay in wait for my very last moment of life.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • The Garden Of Oblivion

    The Garden Of Oblivion

    The garden of oblivion became my secret hideaway, where I could fall into total despair, crying out all my disillusionments. A garden of frozen flowers and broken mirrors unfolded before me. Fragments of broken mirrors sliced my heart into bleeding shards, which the moonlight illuminated with all its grace.

    I was a forsaken creature lost in my trail of lost passions and abandoned to my loneliness. I wandered like a dead soul without any aim to survive since I had lost all my treasures and nothing more was important to cherish. So, cast away from the other worlds, I sought haven in this surreal realm of my own invention.

    Love was a perfect stranger to me since my past existences, when utopian trees and flowers surrounded me all the time with their intoxicating scents and bright colours, leaving sweet caresses in my heart. In this age of shadows, I have become just a relic of myself.

    Lost in labyrinths inhabited by ghosts and wraiths who never hesitated to grab me with their claws sharp as merciless daggers. My madness grew each night quickly, as soon as I could stare into the gloomy emptiness of the ocean and scream at it with all my feral fury.

    Wandering infinitely among shards of broken mirrors and withered flowers, in the realm of shadows and dismay, was all that remained to me. I was a part of that world of doom and oblivion, although all that I desired was to be in an idyllic kingdom of delights and sparkling luminaries.

    The garden of oblivion possessed me like one of its creatures, having lost my heart, which had disappeared into the abyss of death, while I cried tears made of blood and sorrow. My tragic fate had deprived me of everything, and no longing was evermore granted to me.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Dreams And Tears

    Dreams And Tears

    Dreams and tears, in an age when night knew no end
    I dreamed while crying, my tears steeped in infamous bruises
    I was a sorceress obsessed with luscious crimson flowers
    I was the most impure and tainted blossom in the garden of the eternal night
    Where I envisioned dirty fantasies and sensual chimaeras
    I had become possessed by darkness and obsessions
    My longings morphed into moths and biting incubi

    My obsessions devoured me in their dim realm of seduction and destruction
    I lay naked upon the wet and frozen earth
    Powerless as I was in front of the immensity of an ocean of nonsense and decadence
    Secluded in my alcove of madness, I passed my nights among nightmares
    Born to be the victim of my own insanity
    When petals of frenzy pierced me like tiny daggers of folly
    Opening the portal to an obscure realm whose knowledge devastated me permanently
    I was shattered and not willing to see my own reflection in mirrors

    I felt the full weight of my anguish on my chest
    As if a lustful spectre rested viciously upon my body
    While the snow caressed me, as if it were its purpose to soothe my languid soul
    My tears never left my face, descending onto the frozen soil and making blossom flowers of fire and darkness
    The crimson moon cast faint glimmers across the night sky
    Amid the chaos, the luminaries emerged in the shape of sparkling gems
    And the firmament echoed my name through the stygian abyss

    Sulfurous and gloomy clouds concealed all the stars, enveloping the night in total murkiness
    All my dreams were burnt, and their ashes were buried beneath my gravestone
    I became infinite, and nothingness as well, surrounded by fiery flowers and pearls of blood
    The everlasting flame within my heart was untamed and filthy, like a feral creature
    And the night penetrated me utterly like a vicious blade, leaving me in absolute stupor.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Castaway’s Desires

    Castaway’s Desires

    Castaway’s desires enticed me in the long winter nights, when the frozen branches of hollow trees caressed me softly, as they needed to approach my body.

    The scent of burning candles devoured my enthusiasm and reminded me only of my hopeless misery. An everlasting burning desire swallowed my heart greedily like an invisible demon.

    My insensitive inertia cut my soul into pieces and I let the devastation take advantage of me. I was born to be obliterated and perish an infinite number of times in endless ways.

    Frenzy and turmoil were my loyal guides like flaming torches in the deepest darkness, and they fed me with their improper wisdom. I felt alive only because I embodied the distress that consumed me, leaving me in ashes.

    Indeed, it was true that scorching passion sometimes might have let me fall in love with things that destroyed, but it was what penetrated every part of me.

    I was made of fire and ashes surrounded by the cold mist of my dark chamber where dimly lit candles were my only merriment.

    The sweet screams of the night recalled to me who I really was. Obsession carved my vein instilling a tainted poison instead of blood. I became a creature of the realm of shadows and wraiths.

    I was consumed by my own fantasies and foolish hallucinations. I had become the queen of madness among my lost memories of worlds to which I once belonged.

    No mortal entity could see me because I was visible only to creatures of my own. There was no transformation in my staticity.

    I could perceive the manifestation of my own tempest, like a tiny vessel in a stormy sea. Lost in the labyrinth of my dreams and dread, I was unable to discover the existence beyond time.

    The great mystery of seeking my reflection in the immense mirror of life made me realise my nothingness. There was no end and there was no beginning but merely a vague silence clinging to me like luscious ivy.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Mournful Shadows

    Mournful Shadows

    In the stillness of the night, the sky was stormy and overcrowded with lightning and thunder. Rain was pouring down, and the wind was impetuous.

    The exquisite scent of rainwater perfumed my small chamber from which I glimpsed the dark and stormy landscape.

    Chaos and order alternated in my bleak soul, full of grief. A piercing funereal pain had gripped my entire essence.

    Intrusive thoughts and faded hopes crowded my mind as if they were unwelcome intruders, not invited by me.

    Joy and darkness unfolded like buds in my soul, becoming thorny briars that wounded my heart and tore apart my being.

    The bright sun, dethroned in the sky by great threatening and dark clouds in a midsummer storm, was no longer on my visual horizon, making me reflect on my bleak and mortal fate, which condemned me to a sense of perpetual anguish.

    It was as if I had lost the ability to express all that I felt in my heart, the most hidden secrets and concealed truths that I had never been able to reveal to any mortal.

    My fragility had become my only resource—my shattering into pieces and severing from the source of life, from every source of life—had made me like a dead flower in a solitary valley, where a majestic and deserted tower saw its reflection in a ridiculous, nearly nonexistent pond.

    My fragility had become my only resource—my shattering into pieces and severing from the source of life, from every source of life—had made me like a dead flower in a solitary valley, where a majestic and deserted tower saw its reflection in a ridiculous, nearly nonexistent pond.

    Mournful shadows ruled over me.
    They were the ones who decided my path and my fate.
    They were invisible, yet present—and immensely powerful.
    I felt like a doll, a puppet, at the mercy of their whimsical desires and decisions.

    And so I perished,
    by the hand of my own fears,
    by the hand of my own funeral anguish,
    And I became a mournful shadow myself,
    No different from the others.
    Elisabetta

  • The Shadows Of Affliction

    The Shadows Of Affliction

    The shadows of affliction hunted me in the night
    They awakened me in the middle of my slumber
    Like a fever that gripped my body with its sharp claws
    It always left me crying on my bed with a bleeding heart
    Submerged in my teardrops I kept my soul wide open
    As if I could get more dazed than the night before

    Echoes of my lost dreams resounded in my obscure chamber
    They made me feel like a withered flower with no hopes
    I was left, astray in the wasteland of silence
    As I was a forgotten spirit, I wandered among the ruins of my soul
    The abyss of void yelled my name to reclaim me as its beloved possession
    Because nothing more could have saved me

    If I could have erased all my distressing memories
    I would have lived a bearable existence in peace and calm
    Instead, I was doomed to eternal misery and the spasms of death
    I couldn’t find any key to the door that was keeping me locked in my struggle
    So many thoughts and fears were overcrowding my mind that I couldn’t tell
    I felt overwhelmed and dizzy as I was wandering in an endless maze without guides

    The shadows of affliction were cast over me like ominous ghosts
    I stood immobile since panic had grasped my heart
    The frosty breeze of the night froze my bones
    And every mirror I encountered never reflected my authentic image
    I didn’t remember my name anymore, and my purposes
    Climbing ivy curled like serpents, entwining me in veins of sorrow and silence

    From the instant I died, I was buried beneath layers of anguish as a captive of the underworld
    Chained to cry and despair amid the indifference of stars
    And the moonless night sky offered no comfort
    I had chosen to hide in the darkness and never reveal myself to the light
    With nothing left but a lifeless heart
    I had become one of the shadows of affliction.
    Elisabetta

  • Under The Spell of Despair

    Under The Spell of Despair

    Under the spell of despair and distress, I fell into a slumber that dragged me to a realm of darkness and madness.

    Disquietude welcomed me like a soft petal falling on the frigid soil soaked with tears and blood in a domain where I had always been a nobody.

    The sound of a storm kept me asleep as I was under a dark spell of pain. Loving to be possessed by an anguish that was piercing and breaking me.

    A sharp blade stroked me just as an affection manifestation of my nightmares, visiting me like haunting spirits, leaving me bleeding my soul out.

    Decadent desires of lust grabbed my body, tearing me apart with their alluring viciousness, leaving me like a crushed rose whose blood stained red all over the garden grass.

    Faraway, wicked echoes of phoney oddities and curiosities claimed me as their biological creature and beloved possession of my early youth. They trampled upon my essence repeatedly until my soul dissolved into nothingness.

    Old forbidden secrets were kept inside my heart like decayed treasures made of rotten fondness. They made me feel like a butterfly without wings and without a name.

    And so, I became nameless and faceless, ensnared under the spell of despair and mortification, revelling in the triumph of decadence and the torment of existence.

    Floundering in the unfathomable depths of an ocean of dreams and illusions, I drifted endlessly, lost within their spectral embrace.

    In the end, I became a crimson blossom, sustained by the moonlight’s ghostly glow and the deception of my obscene dreams.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

© Esther Racah 2026. All rights reserved.