Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: symbolism

  • Under The Lights Of Dying Flames

    Under The Lights Of Dying Flames

    Under the lights of dying flames
    A dreaming image of myself appeared to me
    It occurred in the chamber dimly lit
    While outside, the wind kept knocking on the window

    My secrets became my blames
    And I had to endure so much distress it couldn’t be kept inside the oceans
    As far as I could ever imagine, my existence was bound to the fate of my dreams
    Each instant resembled a drop of poison tainting my heart

    I remained asleep while the candles wept their wax onto the silver
    And I was mourning the truth I couldn’t confess
    Surrounded by shadows moving gracefully like ethereal skeletons
    Turning me into a silhouette of grief and disdain

    I couldn’t understand if I were dead or alive
    I couldn’t even perceive my body anymore
    All I could sense was my frailty facing the abyss of despair
    No presence, no voice, came to ease my sorrow

    The squalid solitude paralysed me to my deathbed
    I became intoxicated with the scent of incense and decay
    Conscious in my unconsciousness that I had no hope or salvation
    Silence crowned my invisible haven, similar to a vestige nailed to the walls of my mind

    I wandered incessantly through my thoughts like a ghost in a cathedral
    Each memory of mine was a hollow and deformed ghoul
    Dripping like wax from a long-forgotten candle

    I couldn’t escape from my nightmare because there was no awakening reserved for me
    I was doomed to the segregation of dimness
    The image of myself faded into smoke

    I vanished in the emptiness like smoke upon a mirror
    Under the stare of my candelabra with their dying flames
    No traces of me could have been found
    No voice of mine was carved on the walls of eternity

    Under the lights of dying flames, I became a shadow not even the moon could claim as its own.
    Elisabetta

  • A Crimson Night

    A Crimson Night

    A crimson night unveiled the arcane secrets of my darkness
    Faded and timid were my dreams beneath the silver moonlight
    Immersed in a mysterious garden of crimson roses
    I was searching for a sublime delight and solace that could alleviate my pangs

    The cold breeze whispered legends of ancient memories
    Dissolved in the void like magic smoke from an enchanted meadow
    And I was startled by the obliteration of time that ceased to exist
    Because I pretended to be in a utopian world
    A realm of darkness and beauty, made of bliss and anguish

    I wept with all my heart as my crimson roses were bleeding passionately
    Their enchanting scent became tainted by the dust of decay
    Every bliss dissolved into the ether of death, and the crimson night transfigured
    Soothing was the sound of the rain falling over each leaf of dead trees

    In the mournful stillness of that mystic night
    The fragments of all my desires lingered in the shadows of despair
    Each teardrop of mine was a haunting ghost of aborted dreams shattered to dust
    The void disclosed a concealed elegy within me

    Every wilted petal and every faded hue spoke of love and death entangled in ephemeral disgrace
    It was like I was wandering infinitely in a labyrinth of dusk and decay
    The spirit of loneliness traced a path for me to follow
    And I couldn’t seek solace in the bittersweet embrace of darkness and agony

    All the winter winds hauled my silent dirge
    I surrendered to the eternal enigma of magnificence and despair
    Every flame of the night was a fabled spark conducting me to my eternal doom
    Draining myself to death, I had lost the game of life.
    Elisabetta

  • Lost In My Hallucinations

    Lost In My Hallucinations

    Lost in my hallucinations, seeking insanity and self-destruction. I made of self-loathing my eternal anthem and favourite melody. Listening to the noise of the light of the sun when it hit the petals of my flowers, I followed my own shadow in the green meadow of hope. Kneeling down I strove to protect myself from all that dazzling gleaming since I was made of darkness and decadence.

    Lies and illusions were the source of life for my soul which sought exclusively the sweet poison of deception. Wandering beneath a sad sky deprived of stars and moon, I couldn’t take control of my fears and turmoils, I forgot my name although it was carved on every stone I trampled on. Wildly led by my shattered hopes, I roamed astray into the wilderness of aborted dreams.

    Lost in my hallucinations, I was searching for myself and the sense of life while teardrops were marking imprints on my face. Memories sounded like melodies in my ears I couldn’t avoid facing them because they were like a thick cloud enfolding my heart. And words came to my mind like thunders in the middle of the night. The silent stillness soothed me slowly in my insomnia.

    I knew not what I was really and I never saw my reflection on any mirror. I was a stranger to myself and I never met any other creatures like me. I was utterly cast away, lost in the tides of my own desolation, wondering if I ever could have been different. The scent of death enticed me to follow a trail leading into an abyss of despair, where I could embrace my complete obliteration.

    Having lost my wisdom, I discovered a new shape of fictitious reality enticed to the absurd realm of fantasy. There I was not alive anymore but doomed to inexhaustible agony, where fortune frayed like a worn-out thread spun from the hands of forgotten deities. I was the manifestation of decline and defeat.
    Elisabetta

  • My Heart Is Made Of Ink

    My Heart Is Made Of Ink

    My heart is made of ink and blood
    My heart is made of fantasy and dreams
    Surreal place of celestial beauty and stars
    An enigmatic and impenetrable domain

    A realm where thoughts are tangled in fragile webs
    And spectral creatures swirl beneath the silvery light of forsaken moons
    While silent winds carry tales from ancient fables
    Under a sky brushed with infinite hues

    In this realm, I am both adrift and entwined
    My heart is bound to the ink that flows through my veins
    My entire body is blooming like a flower of rhymes
    Where verses unfurl from my petals and thorns

    A world tempest of emotions surges in my heart
    Crumbling my essence into the dust of decay
    Carving elegies upon the hollow firmament
    Where no stars are allowed to shine

    The constellation of startling stars dissolves into the abyss of emptiness
    The obscure chasm that stretches in front of me
    Alluring me in its terrifying emptiness to swallow my soul
    While letters are dripping from my fingers like midnight raindrops

    I became part of the eternity of the abyssal night
    I am no longer bound by shapes or names,
    I dissolve into the void of eternity,
    Like a tiny snowflake lost in the stillness of oblivion

    My desires are fading into the marrow of the darkness
    Within the silence, mysterious secrets are engraved in the bones of dreadful shadows
    And unspoken ballads are waiting to be unconcealed
    An inextinguishable flame is burning and flickering within the core of twilight

    I am drowning in the deep abysm
    Although even in the most profound darkness, ink still flows like blood from my heart
    And my insolent utterances burn against the void
    A ghostly glimmer where stars once shone

    My heart is made of ink and darkness
    My heart is a requiem of dreams and sorrows
    A secret alcove veiled by the mist of silent elegies.
    Elisabetta

  • The Shattered Cage

    The Shattered Cage

    The Shattered Cage
    by Esther Elizabeth Racah

    The shattered cage lay in a garden that had once been a place of splendour, where flowers of every hue danced in the breeze, and the air hummed with life. But suddenly, all that remained was a twisted parody of its former self. The once-vibrant blooms had withered into grotesque shapes, their petals blackened as though burned by an unseen flame. The stone paths that had once guided gently wanderers unexpectedly crumbled beneath the weight of time, leading nowhere but into the heart of decay.

    She had wandered those paths for what felt like an eternity, seeking an escape that did not exist. Every turn, every desperate sprint toward freedom, had only brought her back to the centre—a withered rosebush that seemed to mock her with its brittle thorns. The sky above remained an endless gloomy grey, neither day nor night, offering no solace from her torment. Time had ceased to matter in that place. It was as though the world beyond the garden had forgotten her existence, and she, in turn, had forgotten what freedom felt like.

    Her hands bore the marks of her attempts to tear through the overgrown vines that clung to the garden’s walls. They bled, but the pain was dull as if even her body had surrendered to the numbness that had overtaken her mind. She had screamed until her voice was a mute sigh, but no one had come to save her. The only response was the hollow echo of her own despair reverberating off the walls of her prison, the shattered cage.

    She sank to her knees in the centre of the garden, the last of her strength fading. The air was infused with the scent of decay, suffocating her as she struggled to breathe. She began to struggle to exist. The once-clear waters of the garden’s fountain were now stagnant, reflecting nothing but the void in her heart. She reached out, her fingers brushing the brittle thorns of the rosebush, and in that moment, she realised the truth. There was no escape, no freedom waiting for her beyond the garden’s walls. She had become a part of it, a ghost bound to its decay and decline, forever trapped in the shattered cage of her own making.

  • The Distant Light

    The Distant Light

    The Distant Light
    by Esther Elizabeth Racah

    The distant light danced on the edge of sight,
    Just beyond reach, just out of grasp.
    Steps grew weary in the endless night,
    Hope a fragile, fleeting clasp.

    It wavered like a ghostly flame,
    Teasing those who sought its glow,
    Led them through a darkened frame—
    A journey where shadows flowed.

    The distant light flickered in a fractured motion,
    A beacon in the void of night,
    Its promise, a fleeting trance,
    Drew seekers with its might.

    Each step became an endless strain,
    As the light stayed a phantom’s tease,
    Shadows stretched across the plain,
    Sapped strength, stole ease.

    It cast its lure, a wavering beam,
    Guided through a twisted maze—
    A dream of light, a distant gleam,
    Faded with the morning rays.

    In the end, the distant light stayed afar,
    A glimmer in the vast expanse—
    Shifted like a shooting star,
    Left shadows in its dance.

    The distant light remained a guide,
    A symbol of hopes untold,
    Led those who sought with pride
    To where stories unfolded.

    Yet every seeker, with weary steps,
    Found only relics of the light—
    A fleeting longing in the endless sweep
    Of darkness that devoured the night.

    They chased that light through valleys deep,
    Through mountains steep and vast oceans,
    But each pursuit was met with slumber,
    Where ghouls mocked the seekers’ stride.

    Some turned back, their strength undone,
    By the weight of dreams unrealised.
    Others pressed on toward the sun,
    Their hearts filled with fire, yet their eyes were disguised.

    The distant light, a siren’s call,
    Drew them close, then farther still.
    Through winding paths and towering walls,
    It beckoned with an iron will.

    It whispered promises in the cold blizzard,
    Of realms untouched by grief and woe—
    Of restful nights and peaceful seas,
    Where weary spirits might one day go.

    But every promise led to nought,
    As the light played tricks on eager minds.
    What once was found was soon forgotten,
    In a labyrinth of endless signs.

    The distant light became a hymn,
    Descanted by the wind, carried by dreams,
    An encomium of hope that lingered long,
    In the hearts of those lost in its gleam.

    Still, they chased, though hope grew thin,
    Through dense forests and deserts,
    Believed in the light within—
    A dream that never seemed to die.

    But in the end, the light vanished in the darkness,
    A ghostly wisp, a fleeting flame,
    A memory that could not be tamed,
    A distant star without a name.

    The distant light would never become
    A guide for those who dared to dream—
    Just a memory of a fainted beacon in eternity,
    That flickered in the unseen stream of imagination.

  • The Broken Mirror

    The Broken Mirror

    The Broken Mirror
    by Esther Elizabeth Racah

    The broken mirror reflected a fractured world,
    Facades twisted in the distant light,
    The truth was lost as reflections swirled,
    Clarity faded into the night.

    Each crack told tales of dreams once whole,
    Fragments were part of a distorted show,
    Sighs echoed from the secret dwellings of fractured souls,
    In the broken mirror’s shadowed glow.

    Silvered edges framed distorted scenes,
    A face with sights that could not be seen,
    Reflections trapped in shattered visions,
    Lost within chaotic reverie.

    The silvery glass spoke in muted, splintered tones,
    Revealing truths twisted and blurred,
    A thousand shards held silent moans,
    Where broken images remained unheard.

    Each piece held a sliver of the past,
    A memory splintered and unclear,
    In the mirror’s grasp, shadows cast,
    Untangling what was once held dear.

    Fractured light created a maze,
    A labyrinth of tales left untold,
    In this mirror’s cryptic haze,
    The past’s reflection turned cold.

    A portrait shattered by unseen hands,
    Happiness’s tales lost in grief’s embrace,
    Mirrored fragments dispersed across lands,
    Of broken hopes and shattered dreams.

    The broken mirror remained a cryptic guide,
    A map of what was lost and found,
    In its shards, the truth tried to hide,
    Within a maze where secrets were concealed.

    Every shard held a story half-told,
    A glimpse into lives that had been,
    In the mirror’s shattered, fractured folds,
    Dwelled memories of what was once seen.

    The surface, once clear, now lay in pieces,
    A burst image of days gone by,
    The obliterated mirror retained its silent secrets,
    In fragments where shadows still lie.

    As the pieces lay scattered and cold,
    The reflections faded out of view,
    In the broken mirror’s cryptic hold,
    The past’s echoes bid farewell.

  • The Shadow Realm

    The Shadow Realm

    The shadow realm, in the depths of night, where shadows roamed free,
    A realm of darkness, a place unknown.
    Beneath the veil of the starless sky,
    Whispers of secrets lingered, never to die.

    Through the misty shroud of the moon’s soft glow,
    Lay a land where time moved slowly.
    Where sighs echoed on the edge of sight,
    And the line between reality and dream faded away.

    In the heart of this realm, where darkness dwelled,
    Ghosts of forgotten tales wove their spells.
    While spectres glided on silent feet,
    And the echoes of lost phantoms met.

    The stars beware of daring fate,
    In the realm where shadows ruled, and fear was fed.
    For the shadows held conspiracies, deep and dark,
    And the dreams that meandered might never find their spark.

    But should the infinite have dared the obscurity to embrace,
    And journeyed forth with a steady pace,
    Perhaps the illusion glimpsed the truth untold,
    In the domain where shadows held sway, all mysteries unfurled.

    Beyond the realm of mortal sight,
    Where darkness reigned, and fears soared away,
    Lay a domain of anguish and woe,
    Where the eternity of solitude stretched endlessly.

    In the shadow realm, where time froze,
    Memories of the past haunted every haven,
    The dreads became palpable, like heavy stillness,
    And nightmares lingered, casting a pall.

    Through twisted labyrinths and twisted tendrils,
    The shadows wove their intricate patterns,
    A tapestry of gloom and despair,
    Where every desire might find itself consumed by doom.

    Amidst the abyssal darkness, a glimmer of flames,
    As frail hope in the darkest night.
    For within the dimness lurked the arcane of the invisible,
    An enigma wrapped in the shroud of shadows.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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