Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: night garden

  • The Garden of Sighs

    The Garden of Sighs

    The garden of sighs was a lush secret alcove where, for each sigh, a blossom bloomed in all its exquisite beauty.
    It was a realm of lost dreams and decayed love, with the sweetest scent of death and darkness swallowing every colour.
    The only light that could penetrate such an abyss of nightmares was the faded glimmer of stardust.

    Fears and teardrops adorned the withering petals magnificently; each droplet was a crystallised fragment of sorrow glistening like fallen stars caught in a web of despair. Glooms and touches of melancholy weaved themselves like visions through the tangled vines, curling around each bud as if to protect the enigmas buried in the bleeding soil nourished by the vestiges of forsaken love.

    All the flowers were soaked with desire and lust; their delicate and fragile fragrant petals were trembling under the weight of an ethereal woe. Each blossom seemed to sigh as though haunted, exhaling moans of lost love and regrets into the murky atmosphere. They clung to the bleeding soil, rooted in sorrow and cherished by the very tears that had moistened them.

    The garden of sighs became a lush realm of lust and decay, where the ephemeral sound of sobs of torment entangled with howls of anguish. The carved and darkened trees were hollow havens for eerie wraiths, keeping the arcane secrets of this metaphysical niche, which no wanderer could ever have visited.

    For eternity, this mysterious alcove remained untouched, a forbidden sanctuary beyond the reach of mortal gazes and meddling hearts. And so, the garden of sighs existed—eternal, unseen, a realm untouched by starlight. It lay concealed within the shroud of night, where beauty mingled with the decay of despair.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • A Phantasmagoria of Mystery

    A Phantasmagoria of Mystery

    A phantasmagoria of mystery pervaded the realm of dreams,
    Where delights cast their magic spells,
    Glowing like stars in the infinite darkness,
    The darkness of rationality and consciousness,
    Whose heavy shadows draped over the imagination that dared wander.

    Like warm raindrops falling upon open flower blooms,
    Passions moistened every blossom of roses with their dew of lust,
    Each petal glistening, saturated with feverish desire,
    And in the silent sonata, the blossoms swayed,
    Unfurling to a breeze that whispered forbidden rhymes.

    Oblivion and derealisation welcomed every utopia in this exquisite alcove,
    An alcove of lush gardens veiled in mist,
    Where roses revealed secrets to the midnight sky,
    And the aura, decadent with intoxicating scents,
    Lured dreamers further into hallucinations that could not be resisted.

    In this realm of opulence, reality blurred, dissolving at the edge of darkness,
    Where dawn dared not disturb the exquisite slumber,
    And beneath the star-laden canopy, sweet illusions swirled wildly,
    Weaving dreams with threads of silk and shadows,
    A dance of light and dark, of ecstasy and fervour, entangled forever.

    In the gardens of legends, where phantoms ruled,
    Each shadow became a wraith of lost desires, drifting, unchained,
    Every sigh was heavy with the scent of roses,
    And every heartbeat transformed into an echo, fading into the invisible,
    An imaginary domain where time dissolved, leaving only the eternal dusk.

    A phantasmagoria of mystery happened to be in this enchanted universe,
    Where illusions and falsehoods became reality.
    A bizarre and fantastic scenario where remembrances did not exist anymore,
    And dreams were the irrefutable truth.

    Within this unearthly garden of forbidden reveries,
    Ethereal spectres wove silent trails through the air, invisible.
    Guiding the dreamers and visionaries toward metaphysical revelations,
    Past the boundaries of the known and intelligible.

    The roses, drenched in twilight’s honeyed essence,
    Released their secrets in whispers soft and low,
    As if mourning for a life they’d never lived,
    And petals drifted down like fallen hopes,
    Into pools of ink, where starlight’s glow had ceased.

    Beneath a moon veiled in shadows’ dark embrace,
    Figures waltzed in silence, spectres of delight,
    Invisible, though stirring in every pulse, every heartbeat,
    Moving in time to a song unheard, unfathomable,
    A hymn to worlds that only slumber can comprehend.

    In this phantasmagoric realm, within the depths of the midnight veil,
    Where dawn was but a distant tale, lost,
    The dreamers sank deeper, surrendering entirely,
    To realms beyond the reach of morning’s light,
    Forever wandering in the labyrinth of dusk.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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