Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: surreal poetry

  • Seeking Dreams

    Seeking Dreams

    Seeking dreams in nowhere on a winter night with no stars but only a mystical fog and gloomy clouds. Not even a bird was flying in the leaden and dark sky. Only the clouds were gazing at me like curious observers, and the wind whispered legends of despair to me.

    I signed and dreamed of ocean floors paved with diamonds and stars. I fantasised about mermaids lost in submerged islands, and snow-capped waterfalls on remote cliffs. Time faded away when I was dreaming. Not even the impetuous cold rain could distract me from my nightdreaming.

    Foolishness never abandoned me, while I was consumed by my passionate longings, which brought me to the edge of the universe. Wonderful darkness enticed me, and I summoned my own demons and spirits, surrounded by exquisite midnight flowers.

    Folly and wisdom accompanied me in my everlasting journey to my hellish descent. Though I have visited heavens and abysses, boundless valleys and inaccessible mountains, I have always ended up at the very same point of origin, namely my ancient abyss of despair.

    Seeking dreams in nowhere on a frosty night with no glimmering lights but only a ghostly haze and dismal shadows. No living creature crept close to me, but only wraiths and eerie ghouls, which kept following me in every abode and realm I dwelled in.

    I foresaw my decay and the obliteration of all my dreams that I had sought for so long in vain. Drowning in the emptiness and losing my heart, that was a nightmare of mine, an incubus visiting my slumber. Arcane verses, evoking a magic spell, were carved on my body.

    Scarlet flowers adorned my hair that flowed on my face, while my tears of sorrow soaked the frozen soil. Nightmares and thorns poisoned my never-ending nights, tainting the sky with chaos. Numbed and mesmerised by swirling griefs that never hesitated to tarnish my keenness, I softly succumbed to my unavoidable demise.

    While seeking dreams, I harboured enemies in my soul, harming myself with obsessions that left scars all over my body. I had to renounce being myself and let the darkness swallow all my desires. In a realm of liminality, I was cast away and forced to endure agony.

    Abandoned in my dismay, I found no solace but to metamorphose into sadness. I became what I had feared the most, the very thing that had damaged my heart. I ended up in loneliness and madness, seeing my own reflection staring back at me in fractured and disfigured mirrors.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • In The Frosted Rose Garden Of Madness

    In The Frosted Rose Garden Of Madness

    In the frosted rose garden of madness, a place of bliss and delight, prospered in secrecy. Thorns and petals intertwined in a lethal union, merging like sweet poison in the twilight. Snowflakes were falling over me like soft caresses sent by the luminaries. Clouds were numbing me with their alluring charm, casting bad memories away from my mind.

    Everything seemed perfect and deformed. What appeared to be real was just an illusion, and I fed my soul with delusions and glimmering lies. While the flickering of the candlelight created constantly bizarre drawings of shadows on the walls, made of bricks and bones. The wind hushed me, for me to pay attention to some revelation I was supposed to hear.

    The frosted rose garden of madness was my hidden haven of lunacy and spices. Every kind of rose would blossom in it, surrounded by thorns and arrows. The exquisite magnificence of the view contrasted with the scent of death, which was hovering over it like a wraith from the underworld. My madness was the artifice of my descent to a vortex of frenzies and obsessions.

    Storms inside my heart besieged my boldness, and I surrendered to them. Undoubtedly, I was bold enough to face my obliteration, but not enough to accept my ineptitude. Lores and legends guided me on a perilous path of oblivion. Thorns and pins pierced my heart as I embraced folly and turmoil.

    I wish I could help myself in this labyrinth of passions and longings. Nonetheless, I was lost permanently in the realm of nowhere and absurdity, where everything could have been granted in every conceivable manner, in darkness and light. The colder I felt, the more the dwelling around me dissolved in a haunting haze of derealization.

    Shadows sighed in despair, and infinity bled into nothingness. Gloomy shades invited me to hush, sealing my lips with crimson sealing wax. My freedom had been traded for eternal doom and toxic chains. I didn’t recognise my frosted rose garden of madness any longer, because it came to be a forsaken ravine.

    Indisputably, I had lost the purpose of enduring my burdensome existence. Even the trees and flowers refused to make my acquaintance. I was cast away in the kingdom of desolation and balderdash. I forfeited my voice, and my screams carved words of dismay in my heart.

    I was mesmerised by stupor and dizziness as I crossed the portal to utopias and idylls. I had entered an everlasting dream, where I was ethereal and fragile like a rose tormented by blizzards. In solitude, my collapse epitomised the shattering of my dreams, which disintegrated into ashes and frosty flakes.

    In the frosted rose garden of madness, I fell into a deadly slumber listening to the sound of a deafening silence. I could envision my fantasies as tainted desires of love and death. Caressing brambles and hibernated roses, I vanished into the marvellous dark mist of the night as if I had never existed. I became darkness and light. I became ice and fire.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • My Tainted Longings

    My Tainted Longings

    My tainted longings blossomed from the nocturnal obsessions that sought me in the mystery of darkness.

    I was a sensual creature living in a realm of impurity and decay, feeding myself on otherworldly lust.

    The devastation of my heart had turned me sharply to agony and lust. My melancholic unsaid words had become my delicate self-annihilation.

    My impaled heart bled copiously, blood and unapologetic everlasting flames. A myriad of claws clasped me as if they were the souls of burnt flowers.

    In this doomed realm, I was the only spell-casting enchantress, so much so that I dared to fantasise that every dream of mine had become a haunting obsession.

    I was feeling terribly sensual, willing to allure whoever crossed my path in the forest of despair and ripped hearts.

    I had lost my innocence centuries ago, when the stars still showed only their pure, divine sparkle, for now my obscene and corrupted soul was cast away by the very stars I had loved so tenderly.

    My tears melted the frosty soil into a swamp of blood and dust, my only cherished refuge where I could paint crimson roses and pitch-black ravens.

    I had been crowned the queen of ghouls in my phantasmagoria, where multitudes of claws strove to penetrate my body in every conceivable way.

    What I had been offered was a treasure chest filled with torn hearts and stardust. I belonged to the kingdom of oblivion and monstrosity.

    I could hear the languid moans of souls who had been inflicted with punishments as sharp as blood-thirsty thorns.

    I belonged to the void, and I had been forsaken by my fate. I was drowning in the infinite ocean of nothingness, and it seemed as if I had never been born.

    And that’s how I turned into an enraged shadow, among the endless expanses of emptiness.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Burnt Flowers

    Burnt Flowers

    Burnt flowers became ashes of anguish and despair
    Within a realm full of wonders and sorrow
    Snowflakes were melting into blood and fire
    In the liminal space between night and day
    Where the fury of storms encounters the peace of graveyards
    And the only melody I could hear was a funereal fanfare
    Feeling horny and mortified simultaneously
    Feeling alive and dead indefinitely
    I started burning all the flowers in my garden
    Every magnificent blossom screamed violently
    But I felt a deep delight and bliss
    Reminding myself that I was going to die alone
    In a lake of blood and tears
    Without any consolation
    Without any funeral or elegy

    Once dead
    I became an obsidian raven
    Insolent and powerful
    Finding my amusement in bringing bad omens to mortals
    And sleeping at the top of dead and decaying trees
    Enjoying the scent of burnt flowers and incense
    Being caressed by the gleaming flames was my supreme merriment
    And observing how easily mortals were afflicted by deflagration and obliteration
    I could freely grin in front of their astonished countenances
    Although I had always aimed to be cherished
    Although I had always wanted to be adored
    All that I could attain was only a box of bones and thorns

    Who, indeed, could ever have consoled me?
    Among the shadows surrounding me
    A frozen indifference was being offered to me in a silver cornucopia
    With shady candles and daggers
    Swallowing sweet poison and toxic blood made me a sorceress
    I was detached from the world of ghosts and illusions
    By intentionally becoming a creature of the underworld
    Although the sky belonged to me as well
    Scorching from the inside as a way to make my existence bearable
    Every pang of mine was a blissful lust, and my body could perceive the intensity of such torment.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Bliss And Ecstasy

    Bliss And Ecstasy

    Bliss and ecstasy permeated the luscious and exquisite night,
    As dreams and passions drifted like evanescent rose petals.

    Crossing the infinite corridors of the labyrinth of my imagination,
    I surrender to the lust of a garden of crimson roses.

    I let the haunted dead of night fracture my heart,
    And permit the demons of darkness to sip my blood.

    The ruptures in my soul reflect the twilight, and the stars stare at me,
    In a game of love and death, where I’m the main character.

    There weren’t any more winter mornings, nor summer evenings,
    The only perpetual season was the frosty nighttime.

    Indeed, time had been obliterated,
    And my heart had sunken deep down into the abyss of deception.

    Surrounded by ashes and spider webs, I have died as many times as there are stars in the sky.

    I had become an addict of my own grotesque fantasies, secluded in my castle of tragedies, blood stains and screams of despair.

    Feeding myself with lethal poison, thorns and ice needles, I was wandering in my realm of nightmares and shadows.

    Wraiths and demons hid behind ancient dusty ruins and brambles, while a blizzard was stroking the withered flowers and dead trees.

    Bliss and ecstasy pierced me with their sharp arrows, making me lose every glimmer of wisdom.
    I could feel spasms all over my body, although anguish didn’t spare my soul.

    The cynical misery had grabbed my fate with its menacing claws, causing my heart to perish from a startling affliction.

    Sharp thorns and scarlet roses were climbing over me in my garden of love and death, willing to surrender to such a cruel destiny.

    And so it was that I had been crowned the Queen of Darkness, under the arcane oath of never looking back nor ever regretting my belonging to the realm of doom.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Buried Memories

    Buried Memories

    Buried memories unearthed in my subconscious during my journeys of lost and unknown dreams in places and times unknown to me and of which I perceived only fragments of memory that I kept to myself.

    Joys and sorrows dwelled in my heart, which knew no peace, and was constantly pierced by anguish and anxiety, as well as sorrowful memories full of resentment and regrets.

    I woke up with the anguish of memories and the worries that clung to me like invisible chains.
    And the clock struck ten past ten,
    It seemed as though the bells had rung,
    And the stillness around me revealed
    How my anxieties and anguish were fleeting realities,
    And though heavy, they could vanish into nothingness.

    The sadness—or melancholy, as it may be defined by words—was like an endless abyss within my heart, and it was that very sadness which had carved deep wounds that continued to bleed and had never healed. Time, in the end, had not fulfilled its duty, and the oblivion of my pains and sufferings had not completed its task.

    Lying in an inhospitable and unknown cemetery, I found myself in my solitude and in the most deafening silence.
    The crimson mist hovered around like a spirit both present and dominant within that mysterious and twilight aura.

    I felt how anguish mingled with my fears, as if, despite having lost everything, I would… I had doubted whether to descend further into the abyss of despair.

    And as the wind enveloped me in its coldness and its silent softness, so, in the very same moment, it was as though I had found myself in a new reality, a new realm, unfamiliar to me.

    If I were to find myself in the realm of lost, recovered, buried and unearthed memories, I would not know it—nor shall I ever—for my visions were like hallucinations, as if all of it were born of my own fantasies, my nocturnal nightmares, and my waking daydreams.
    Elisabetta

  • Betrayed Dreams

    Betrayed Dreams

    Betrayed dreams were trapped in a dim chasm where fates were doomed.
    Whispered tales revealed fate’s cruel descent.
    Beneath the moon’s cold, watchful gaze,
    Lay the past where hopes had died.

    In twilight’s hush, the atmosphere grew eerie,
    As dark secrets began to whirl.
    Dreams once woven with silver threads,
    Turned pale and dim, cold and dead.

    In forgotten rooms where laments wept,
    Silent murmurs invoked dreams and illusions.
    Through the misty veils of sorrow’s shroud,
    Wandering ghouls summoned long-lost regrets.

    In a garden wild with brambles and thorns,
    Where happiness and brightness once had rambled,
    Stood a phantom, cold and stark,
    Guarding the graves of dreams now dark.

    Waves of delight faded, turning into wails,
    In the dark night where truth had been belied.
    Promises shattered like fragile crystal,
    In the shadows of a tarnished past.

    In cobbled roads beneath the fog,
    Lay the remnants of melancholic memories.
    Once hopeful verses now turned to dust,
    In the silence, everything had disintegrated.

    The clock hands moved in mournful time,
    Marking the end of each hope’s chime.
    In the stillness of the darkness, remembrances stirred,
    Of betrayed dreams, now gone, forsaken.

    The fire’s warmth, now cold and dim,
    The light of hope was no longer trimmed.
    In the ashes of what once had gleamed,
    Lay the remnants of betrayed dreams.

    In twilight’s arms, where shadows slumbered,
    Lay the legend of dreams that had once lived in the labyrinth of imagination.
    In the garden of whispered winds and silent screams,
    Shadows danced upon the traces of bygone dreams.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Silent Darkness

    Silent Darkness

    Silent darkness lay among the garden of dreams and nightmares,
    Illusions and chimaeras blossomed into alluring flowers,
    Under the sight of a dark night sky studded with stars.

    Solemn promises of failed loves and altered desires were the guardians of this sacred alcove,
    A garden immersed in a silent darkness.

    Moonlight glimmered, illuminating the scene with a spectral glow,
    Casting shadows that moved with a ghostly grace.
    Fragments of forgotten vows were scattered through the still air,
    As the past intertwined itself with the present.

    Each petal was exhausted by the burden of memories,
    Infuse with the fragrance of longing and regret.
    The trees loomed eternal, their branches like skeletal arms,
    Reaching out to caress the fabric of the night.

    In this garden, time halted to flow,
    Instants frozen in a fragile web.
    Dreams entangled with nightmares,
    Creating an ethereal veil of beauty and despair.

    A mild breeze stirred the leaves of decay,
    A sigh of the universe manifesting in the dark night.
    A wind that carried the essence of lost yearnings,
    Revealing secrets to those who dared to imagine fantasy worlds.

    Beneath the ancient oak, a stone throne lay,
    Weathered by the passage of countless seasons.
    It kept the marks of periods of solace and delight,
    In the embrace of the garden’s silent refuge.

    The stars above bore a timeless glint,
    Glimpses of the tales created in this secret place.
    They shimmered like distant lanterns,
    Guiding daring wandered through the labyrinth of dreams.

    Silent darkness obscured the night,
    A solitary warder of the fragile beauty.
    It draped the garden in an eternal silence,
    Holding its enigmas in the chasms of the night.

    The secret garden was the dwelling of dreams and nightmares,
    Where delusions and mirages flourished,
    Silent darkness lingered as a timeless protection of an invisible realm.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Realm Of Solitude And Death

    The Realm Of Solitude And Death

    The realm of solitude and death was the reality of the empirical world,
    Where the paroxysm of loud emptiness and obscenity extinguished the frail beauty and delight.

    Somewhere between the darkness and light, there was a realm of lost desires,
    With no expectations left but only a bitter awareness.

    Soft-spoken words, once tender like nocturnal whispers, were swallowed by the abyss of emptiness,
    Their gentle promises were gripped by a greedy void that rendered them meaningless.

    In such a harsh landscape, beauty was turned into a fleeting spectre, easily consumed by the relentless nothingness,
    Delight, once magnificent and resplendent, had withered under the weight of pervasive desolation.

    Dreams and aspirations lay scattered, their essence extinguished by the crushing weight of a cruel reality,
    Echoes of unfulfilled longings were carved on the cold stones of a barren infinity, starkly contrasting with dreams.

    Every utterance, every mellow promise, disappeared into the darkness,
    The silence, absolute and isolating, caused even the most earnest expressions of feelings to be meaningless.

    The realm of solitude and death induced fragments of hope and beauty to be forever eclipsed,
    Forever forsaken in the relentless march of blankness and sorrow.

    Crying out of despair was just useless because of the imperishable cruelty of fate.
    All the ghostly puppets were powerless, and with time, they believed only to be worthless.

    The terrific silence of the annihilation echoed in the entire universe,
    Where the obscurity destroyed even the faintest flicker of light.

    In this vast emptiness, the stars seemed to mourn in their loneliness; their once bright glow was now reduced to a cold, apathetic shimmer.

    The veil of existence was but a thin cloth, easily torn by the ceaseless winds of despair, leaving behind only relics of bygone days.

    Amidst this astral desolation, expectations lay buried beneath layers of relentless darkness, suffocated by the heaviness of the eternal void.

    Each moment persisted, a remembrance of the unyielding nature of this forsaken realm, where the past and future dissolved into an infinite abyss of sorrow.

    And so, the abyss of solitude and death remained, an unending memento of the demise of lost dreams, where even echoes of existence faded into eternal quietness.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Oblivious Desires

    Oblivious Desires

    Oblivious desires hid beneath the starred sky,
    Nonsense from the clouds of voluptuous dreams,
    Becoming nightmares of an endless night spent in the labyrinth of darkness,
    Love and death were entwined like roses and thorns.

    Magic mirages were a transcendent wisp,
    Illusions faded with the breaking dawn,
    Phantasms that weathered on the edges of reality,
    Vanishing like shadows when the light was drawn.

    The moon whispered secrets to the silent sea,
    As waves crashed with a mournful melody,
    Lost souls wandered in the twilight’s embrace,
    Seeking consolation in the echoes of a forgotten cry.

    How indifferent were the stars to every earthly plight,
    Glimmering coldly in their distant domain,
    Witnessing the folly of mortal yearnings,
    As dreams dissolved into the night again.

    Oblivion embraced those who dared to dream and forget,
    In the realm where light and shadow met,
    Their desires, ephemeral as morning mist,
    Vanished in the twilight, bittersweet.

    The labyrinth’s passages recounted tales,
    Of love lost in the periods of time,
    Where roses wilted and thorns remained,
    In the garden of memories and regrets, so hauntingly sublime.

    Beneath the luminaries’ indifferent gaze,
    Hope flickered like a candle’s flame,
    Destined to be devoured by the obscurity,
    Although burning brightly anyway.

    In the end, the dusk claimed everything,
    Dreams and desires, love and strife,
    Leaving only the silence of eternity,
    In the labyrinth of the endless nights.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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