Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: Mourning

  • Melancholic Discomfort

    Melancholic Discomfort

    Melancholic discomfort was a mirror to my soul. Dead leaves fell with sadness. Sorrow grasped dreams and delight. The abyss of nothingness extended its boundaries. Delusional visions became gloomy shadows. Portals of darkness were sources of uncertainty. Illusion was reality but not anymore. Distances become journeys to surreal realms. Deceitful hopes were invisible traps

    Silence hushed me as an imperious order. There was no prophecy able to entangle my fate. Everything was distorted and hypnotising. Obsessions clutched my heart with nails and quills. The horizon was shrouded in haze. Only darkness was guiding me in a labyrinth of bitterness and revenge. I saw squalor swallowing magnificence. I heard the screams of joy of demented fools. Their claws were embedded in precious paintings

    At night I woke up overwhelmed by the moans of pain and dread. It was the visitation of those who had no voice. So many times, I wished to keep my heart in oblivion. But it was never the case. They came and their poison penetrated into my heart. I kept myself faraway from each one of them. At the end, my dreams had opened my eyes and I saw everything.

    It was too late and too soon. Time had no sense anymore. Nothing made sense anymore. Everything had become a dark nightmare. There was no escape. There was no salvation. I had been punished for having seen too much. Beyond any imagination. As if nature could have welcomed me to another realm. Where I was free from other mediocrity chains.

    The mist enveloped me, as if it wanted to protect me from seeing things that would dishearten and hurt me. I had been shamelessly copied by horrible ghouls who scrutinised me with envious and treacherous eyes. Copycats who used my lipstick, strove to reproduce my portraits in a grotesque, ridiculous style.

    Mediocrity and depravity wanted me to hush, because I had revealed their appalling secrets. But the wind was my ally and it brought my words to all the domains. My heart has been shattered and devastated. I had become a shell of myself. I couldn’t recognise my countenance in the silvery surface of cynical mirrors. I had no dreams anymore because I had lost any desire to survive.

    I was just a shell of myself, a ghost devoid of every hope to find the delights in a lugubrious existence. Touching the gelid walls of a house made of memories and bones, I was reminded of the several losses, deaths and funerals, which were entangled in my heart. I had lost everything that was very dear to me in an indissoluble manner.

    I felt a melancholic discomfort like sharp nails piercing my heart, and an absence of noise, as if I was already dead before dying. Long nights expired slowly, as though they didn’t want to leave space for the daylight. I was annoyed at the thought of seeing inept and mediocre beings wallowing in a world filled with cornucopias and treasure chests.

    I constantly felt like a creature condemned to see what I didn’t want to see. Squalor, venality, superficiality, and idiocy were served on platters of gold and gems as jewels of admiration and wisdom. I felt so disoriented and emptied of all my desires and dreams that I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with this miserable existence anymore.

    All my anguished thoughts turned into raw, unfiltered words. The sense of deep disappointment had disarmed me and I no longer knew what to do. Countless times I had lost myself and never found that part of me that had faded into oblivion. Mediocre, superficial, and flashy mortals had shamelessly supplanted me.

    Their grimaces in front of the cameras and idiotic poses had dominated the scene along with their bottles of luxurious perfumes, their exorbitant chocolates, and their sumptuous jewels. I saw marionettes devoid of any kind of decency, which were crowned queens of a fallen kingdom made of sewer debris and the dust of depravity. 

    I sat under a dead tree in the garden of disillusions, I was already exhausted by my existence, as if I were no longer capable of moving forward. I had given up in the face of the devastation and desecration of beauty and art. I didn’t want to be part of that bestiary that reeked of putrefaction and latrine.

    But at the same time, I felt helpless because I could not save what had been cruelly torn away from me. My shattered heart stopped beating and turned into a heavy stone that made me fall into the abyss of perdition. A deadly slumber had captured me, and I wept for the lack of dreams.

    The melancholy of the memories of what I lost overwhelmed me like a stormy sea. I felt helpless in the face of a tsunami of catastrophic events that had infested my life. I didn’t want to know anything anymore. I didn’t want to feel anything anymore. I didn’t want to love anything anymore.

    I locked myself in a refuge of perpetual silence, shunning everything that had damaged and scarred me. Every form of bliss was relinquished since I had become a shadow in a world that didn’t belong to me any longer. I shunned the realm of degradation and profanity.

    I had embodied all the despairs and struggles that had chased me, now that I was a shadow in a realm of darkness and descent. Dressed in fragments of forgotten beauty, I wandered aimlessly as if fate had abandoned me. A gentle breeze of restlessness and sadness enveloped me, as if to remind me that I still had a heart.

    The hiss of loneliness was the only sound that constantly accompanied me while I could not find a horizon or a destination to follow. I had regained myself by losing myself in the void, with the hope of forgetting everything that had erased me. I vanished like an evanescent cloud at twilight just before the eternal night came to announce its hegemony.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Midnight Thorns

    Midnight Thorns

    Midnight thorns grew for each teardrop that stroked my face
    With a heart full of stitches and pins
    And for each memory, a mask of remembrance grew like a flower of death
    In a golden cage of betrayal and deception, I dwelled in utter solitude
    Faraway from the vulnerable and wicked sight of mortals

    At each instant, my expectations arose under the shape of lifeless trees
    No season and no hour differentiated the realm of midnight thorns
    A persistent aura of doom distinguished this gilded dungeon
    No sun was rising on the horizon
    Only the several moons dared to appear in all their splendour and dark emotionlessness

    My dwelling was a castle made of pure gold and decadence
    Amid an enchanted forest of malicious spirits and magic spells
    From each mirror, an unknown countenance emerged
    As if my reflection shifted with every passing instant

    Mystical fanfares and funeral laments wavered like otherworldly fragments of sorrow
    Echoing within the hollow walls of my golden dungeon
    Elegies without words hovered as mourning tributes to obliterated dreams
    The chandeliers wept waxen tears made of gold
    And all the chambers and hallways trembled beneath imperceptible footsteps

    I strolled in mourning robes, carrying secrets and grief
    I followed the trail of dark shadows, finding no merriment
    I had lost myself and all my hopes were obliterated
    Everything was buried beneath the ashes of my forsaken dreams
    And the shadows had become friends of my own melancholy

    The glooms were the reflection of my own melancholy
    And all the mirrors were portraits watching quietly with their empty eyes
    No sound beckoned my name, and no aid came from the darkness
    There I was surrounded by the heady perfume of ancient roses and antiquity dust
    I ceded to midnight thorns, the venom of demise and drama.
    Elisabetta

  • In Chaos And Madness

    In Chaos And Madness

    In chaos and madness, I’ve got lost while dreaming
    It was as if I could see only with my soul but not with my eyes
    The realm I found myself in was just an illusion of my own imagination
    Wandering around among fantasies and hallucinations

    I became aware that everything was going to be destroyed
    Death and obliteration were waiting for me and my realm of dreams
    Behind every bliss of mine, there was a tragic ache that carved wounds on my body
    A hopeless loneliness was the only flower blooming in my garden

    Sordid was the soil on which I trembled with dread and fear
    Where each flower was watered by illusions and embedded in despair
    Each petal bled with loss and remorse at the feet of the fountain of disdain
    And I felt overwhelmed by the dizziness swaying between chaos and madness

    I couldn’t see any creature on the darkest night I have ever attended
    While the silence had devoured every sound, it left the pounding of my heart to hunt me
    I was torn from my world of daydreams to be cast into a realm of annihilation and grieve
    And became part of the garden of dead trees

    Every sensation and memory muted into a scar
    Every teardrop became part of that fountain of grief
    The roots of each hollow tree chained me to the cold soil
    I was one of the several withered flowers in that garden of insanity

    The instability of my condition was assured by my bound to decadence
    I swore my oath to the thorns that crowned my garden of roses and frenzy
    Delirium and ecstasy possessed my bleeding heart
    All the longings of mine were buried deeply into the abyss of eternity

    I screamed my despair, and I cried teardrops of blood
    In chaos and madness, I had become the darkness and wickedness
    I was the queen of the night and eternity
    And the void belonged to me as long as I belonged to the realm of death and oblivion.
    Elisabetta

  • The Bloom Of Oblivion

    The Bloom Of Oblivion

    The bloom of oblivion flourished everywhere
    The flowers of destruction and decay bloomed
    They paved my way to the abyss of death I was destined to follow
    Without hesitation, I followed them with devotion and sacrifice

    I lost my wisdom and my resilience to embrace a doomed fate of distress
    Each night had become my day, and my sun was the moon shining silvery gleams
    A gloomy silence surrounded me as a funeral hymn
    My withered heart was my only guide

    I wept and cried to the night sky that echoed my laments
    Beneath the indifferent gaze of the stars that mocked me
    As if I was a miserable creature who had lost every direction
    No compass was showing me the path

    I was alone in loneliness and prostration
    I could hear the scream of death from time to time
    I knew that I was bound to despair, and my
    existence had ceased
    My appearance was similar to the ghouls I was encountering

    I had lost everything, and nothing could have redeemed my life
    No entity could ever rescue me from my obliteration
    I had buried all my dreams, and no consolation could alleviate my suffering
    I stared at the moon with my eyes full of tears, but nothing could have been altered

    I couldn’t perceive anymore the passing of time
    The graveyard where I ended up was so dreadful with its blooming flowers of oblivion
    Every flower was blooming as a withered blossom
    And all the trees were hollow and dead since innumerable epochs

    No wish of mine could ever be granted
    The bloom of oblivion was everywhere in the realm of death
    And I stood still like a porcelain sculpture without blood in its veins
    I had lost my soul, and my heart had withered irredeemably
    Love and desires resided no longer in my heart
    Since everything was nothingness, and I was a tiny part of the immense void.
    Elisabetta

  • A Tragic Fate

    A Tragic Fate

    A tragic fate ruled beneath a mournful autumn sky,
    A forsaken shade stood with a tearful eye,
    And a stare falling upon a distant stone,
    Where memories lay carved in bone.

    The winds had howled low; the trees had bent near,
    Whispers were carried, fraught with fear.
    A tragic fate, so cruelly spun,
    The story ended where it had begun.

    It was a gloomy tale of a life forever paused,
    A frail and fair existence swallowed by despair’s cruel snare.
    The wanderer watched as doom took its due,
    Helpless as its darkness grew.

    A wilted rose lay upon a grave,
    A token of a life once given.
    In nights that wept and days that knew despair,
    Absence haunted in hollow air.

    The earth was consumed, the coffin decayed,
    Life was reduced to memories soon forgotten.
    What solace could the grieving find,
    When death had left the world behind?

    The ravens summoned from their twisted trees,
    Evoked echoes lingered in the bitter breeze.
    Forgotten mortal fragments traced the path,
    To where the silent shadows did laugh.

    A chill resided in every gust of heft,
    Every sigh became a dirge that spoke of death.
    The sky hung heavy, draped in grey,
    As if mourning the world’s decay.

    In every shroud of mist that swirled,
    The darkness deepened, and silence curled.
    Beneath the ground, the roots entwined,
    To claim a body once divine.

    The clock ticked on, though spirits faded,
    Their murmurs were lost where graves were laid.
    And as the night unfolded its veil,
    The air grew thick with a mournful wail.

    Beneath the mournful autumn shade,
    Two souls rested, their debts repaid.
    The earth reclaimed its lost embrace,
    And time forgot each sorrowed face.

    In the gloom, an eerie glare burnt in all its might,
    It kept flickering dimly through the night.
    It wove between the gravestones’ gloom,
    A ghostly waltz, a dance of doom.

    At last, voices from the shadows called,
    They whispered tales of love’s great fall.
    The leaves rustled with each breath,
    Carrying echoes of untimely death.
    A tragic fate was inevitable for the eternity.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Eternal Mourning

    The Eternal Mourning

    The eternal mourning ruled through the mist,
    Where an eerie chapel stood,
    In barren lands of forgotten names,
    Its windows wept with shattered glass,
    As time drifted by, yet never passed.

    The bell, once vibrant, was now silent and cold,
    But it echoed faintly with lingering souls,
    Who wandered through this hallowed ground,
    In silence where no peace could have been found.

    The graves, untended, cracked and bare,
    Hold names erased by time’s cruel air,
    And ivy crawled like fingers cold,
    Around the stones where death took hold.

    A shadow moved among the tombs,
    A bride in black with eyes like moons,
    Her veil, a shroud of endless grief,
    Her heart was forever without relief.

    She searched for the one she had lost,
    Her love was consumed by death’s harsh frost.
    In this eternal mourning, with every step, the earth sighed low,
    A dirge for those who’ll never know.

    Her tears fell softly on the stone,
    For here she walked, forever alone,
    Bound to this mournful, endless night,
    A ghost within the pale moonlight.

    No prayers will ever reach this land so cursed,
    No love reborn, no life reversed,
    And as she trod this path of sorrow,
    A journey where the sun will never greet tomorrow.

    The chapel whispered of faded vows,
    Of love turned ash beneath the boughs.
    A raven perched on a cross,
    A silent watcher of her loss.

    She lingered where the shadows crept,
    In search of dreams that death will forever keep,
    Eternally bound, her heart enchained,
    A ghost of the dark profaned.

    The roses, once red, became black as night,
    Their petals crushed beneath her flight.
    In endless circles, she will roam,
    This graveyard of her heart, her home.

    The stars were blind, the moon had fled,
    For in this eternal mourning, the living walked with the dead.
    And she, a bride without a groom,
    Wandered still through this eternal gloom.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Fragments of Pang

    Fragments of Pang

    Fragments of pang had been what remained after the storm of betrayal and deception,
    Having destroyed every hope and delight in the garden of dreams and desires.
    Beneath the silvered sky, where shadows twisted and writhed,
    The mournful wind sighed through the trees, whispering the names of the dead.

    Tears had fallen from broken statues, their faces frozen in an eternal lament,
    As vines of despair coiled around forgotten graves,
    And the moon had cast its pallid glow upon the crumbling walls of forgotten chapels,
    Where echoes of dismal laments lingered like ghosts in the mist.

    In that desolate place, where time itself had seemed to abandon its course,
    The air was replete with sorrow, heavy with undisclosed secrets.
    The raven had perched high above, its eyes reflecting a darkness deeper than the night,
    Watching with cold indifference as ghouls wandered aimlessly below.

    No solace had been found in that ruinous haven,
    Only the faint murmur of lost hope, swallowed by the abyss of time.
    The candles that once burned bright in the halls of joy had long since flickered out,
    Leaving only the void to claim what was left of a shattered heart.

    Amidst the ruins, a sculpture had stood cloaked in mourning,
    Its face hidden beneath a veil of grief,
    Waiting, always waiting, for the return of what was never meant to last.
    And so the night had stretched on, endless and unforgiving,
    As the world slowly forgot everything, what had remained within those walls were only fragments of pang.

    The ancient doors had creaked, their hinges rusted with centuries of neglect,
    Opening to a hall draped in shadow, where silence reigned supreme.
    Cobwebs had veiled forgotten portraits, faces blurred by time’s cruel hand,
    Their eyes had seemed to follow, scrutinising, though none were left to speak.

    Each stair step seemed to bend through the emptiness, a faint reminder of those who had tread there before,
    Doomed to wander, searching for deliverance in a place forsaken by light.
    The stained glass windows, splintered and dim, had wept colours long faded,
    Casting spectral hues on the cold stone floor like fragments of a shattered past.

    A faint susurration had dwelled in the hollow corridors—
    It did not belong anymore to any living entity but only to broken vows and wrecked promises.
    Words had been lost in the wind, although the pain had still lingered in that eerie domain,
    A haunting refrain of love betrayed, of hearts sundered by the cruel hand of fate.

    There, beneath the weight of centuries, the walls themselves had seemed to whimper,
    As if they remembered every misery that had passed within their embrace.
    The ceiling, a vault of darkness, had offered no stars to guide the lost,
    Only the oppressive heaviness of forgotten dreams trapped in endless night.

    Beyond the hall had lain a forgotten vault where stones and crystals had stood vigil,
    Like haunting faces turned heavenward in silent, mournful invocations.
    But no utopia had answered their plea; the sky above had remained as cold and indifferent
    As the graves, offering neither comfort nor release.

    There, the cold soil itself had seemed to breathe with ancient dread,
    A slow, shuddering sigh beneath the feet of those who had dared to tread.
    Gravestones had tilted and cracked, their inscriptions worn smooth by the passage of time,
    And, all those mortal names had been forgotten; their suffering had remained etched in the wind.

    Fragments of pang had wandered, lost among the tombstones and ruins,
    As solitary wraiths in a world of decay, bound to the pain of what once was.
    Since in that place, time had held no meaning, no mercy, only the endless march of despair,
    As the night had stretched on, unyielding, beneath the weight of a cruel and cynical fate.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Endless Grief

    The Endless Grief

    The endless grief, born in the deepest shadows,
    Where sorrow grew, and demons crept.
    A silence dazed the eerie aura,
    A weight too much for hearts to bear.

    The rain fell cold, the sky was bleak,
    The soul became frail and the mind weak.
    A distant toll of bells transformed into a choir of cries,
    A dirge for those who dared to wander too far away.

    The endless road of mourning winds,
    Through shattered hopes and twisted desires.
    No company was found, nor voices to be heard,
    Just endless grief that claimed every living creature.

    The endless grief, a cursed refrain,
    A perpetual march through infinite pain.
    The night devoured the light of day,
    And dragged the hearts to slow decay.

    A castle cold, where shadows reigned,
    Sighs echoed in darkened walls.
    A labyrinth with thorns and tendrils of dread,
    Each path was a step closer to the death.

    The stars looked down with a hollow stare,
    Like frozen orbs that did not care.
    Their pale light painted the soil in frost,
    As every entity was bound and lost.

    The endless grief betrayed like a lover’s kiss,
    A poisoned embrace that none could ever be missed.
    It held hearts, it gripped souls,
    It swallowed whole all that was taken under control.

    In twisted woods where no life could have prospered,
    The path led where the cold wind blew.
    The trees, they moaned, their branches writhed,
    Beneath the sky where stars didn’t thrive.

    The river flew with quiet dread,
    A blackened stream for the living dead.
    Its waters whispered as they ran,
    A mournful hymn for what had begun.

    The endless grief, a heavy shroud,
    A curse that lingered like a minacious cloud.
    No dawn would have broken, no sun would have risen,
    No delight could have been born beneath these unlimited skies.

    The realm itself became a monument of stone,
    A place where nothing could make sense.
    The ground would have swallowed every shadow,
    And still, the grief remained the same.

    The endless grief never ended and never will,
    Through disfigured dreams, it wends and bends.
    It buries deep, it scars souls,
    A fate that no one can control at all.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Secret Longings

    Secret Longings

    Secret Longings
    by Esther Elizabeth Racah

    In shadows deep where silence reigned,
    I wandered once, with hopes long feigned.
    My heart, a vault of secret fires,
    Bore dreams that time and grief conspired.
    A whisper lost within the night,
    I sought the stars’ elusive light.
    But every step, though soft and slow,
    Led further from what I would know.

    The walls of time grew thick with dread,
    Encasing all that once was said.
    Beneath the luminaries, a ghostly plea,
    I carved my name on a memory tree.
    Yet winds would blow, and dust would rise,
    To hide the truths behind my eyes.
    A gaze that lingered, filled with thirst,
    But never quenched, forever cursed.

    For there, within the hidden keep,
    Where shadows walked, and spirits wept,
    I found the longing, dark and cold,
    A hunger profound, too strong, too old.
    A silence hung like mourning’s shroud,
    And in its grip, my head was bowed.
    What secrets stirred within the stone,
    Were mine to carry, mine alone.

    The fleeting glimmer of what might,
    Lay far beyond my dimming sight.
    Yet still, I chased that phantom light,
    Through endless corridors of night.
    The taste of dreams, so near, so far,
    It was lost beneath a darkened star.
    And all that once seemed close, so clear,
    Became a distant echo near.

    In those long halls, where stillness crept,
    The shadows deepened as I wept.
    For what is longing but despair,
    A wish that dies upon the air?
    And though I sought with all my will,
    The void within grew immensely still.
    Each corner turned, each door I passed,
    Led further from the truth at last.

    And now, those fires once bright, once warm,
    Are cold, mere embers in the storm.
    The yearning that consumed my days,
    Fades slowly in the endless maze.
    No solace waits beyond this door,
    Only echoes, nothing more.
    And so, I wander, lost in thought,
    A ghost with longings left to fraught.

  • An Ephemeral Life

    An Ephemeral Life

    An ephemeral life had endured the shadows of dread,
    In a garden where roses had once bloomed bright and red.
    Petals, once vivid in sunlight’s warm caress,
    Had withered and crumbled in spectral distress.

    The sun, harsh and unforgiving, had scorched each bloom,
    Turning vibrant splendour into a sombre tomb.
    Moonlight, pale and ghostly, draped the garden’s decay,
    Casting an eerie pallor where the flowers had lain.

    The breeze, once gentle, had grown sharp and cold,
    Whispered secrets of a beauty that death had told.
    In the stillness of twilight, where shadows had crept long,
    The garden lay haunted by a mournful song.

    An ephemeral life of once vibrant blooms, now ghostly and frail,
    Had bowed to the earth, and their colour had grown stale.
    Each flower, a relic of a fleeting moment,
    Had succumbed to darkness and the deafening silence.

    The fountain, now stagnant, held the murky remains
    Of water once clear, now a grave for the chains.
    Its ethereal music had turned into a low groan,
    A dirge for the blossoms that the grave had known.

    The moon’s cold light revealed a macabre scene,
    Where beauty had faded, leaving only the obscene.
    The garden, once alive with intense happiness,
    Had become a crypt in the embrace of night.

    An ephemeral life, in the stillness that lingered, where shadows sank into the abyss,
    The essence of life had yielded to dismiss.
    An evanescent existence, now lost to decay,
    Wandered through the garden where time had slipped away.

    The sculptures, once regal, had frozen in their dismay and despair,
    Silent custodians cloaked in the chill of the air.
    Their features, carved in stone, tattered an expression of anguish,
    Glimpses of the fading archaic dreams and praises.

    An archaic ivy, creeping with tendrils so dark,
    Had embraced the remains of a once glittering spark.
    In the garden’s hushed sighs, the past had seemed to cry,
    As the fleeting delight had faded beneath the sky.
    An ephemeral life of what could no longer be redeemed from the doom of death.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

© Esther Racah 2026. All rights reserved.