Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: tragic fate

  • 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 shattered mirrors sundered my heart into crystal shards, which the moonlight illuminated with all its splendour.

    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 period of shadows, I have become just a relic of myself.

    I wandered astray through labyrinths inhabited by ghosts and wraiths, whose claws, merciless as daggers, clasped my dreams. My turmoil rose each night quickly, as soon as I stared into the gloomy emptiness of the ocean and screamed at it with all my untamed acrimony.

    Wandering infinitely among shards of capricious desires 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 claimed me like one of its creatures, having lost my heart, which had disappeared into the abyss of oblivion, while I cried tears made of grief and sorrow. My tragic fate had deprived me of everything, and no longing was evermore granted to me.
    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 Eleventh Gate

    The Eleventh Gate

    The Eleventh Gate stood in the underworld — silent, unmarked.
    I wandered, neither living nor dead,
    Caught between shadows that whispered secrets I could not grasp,
    Searching for meaning in that endless twilight of souls.

    17:17 appeared to me
    While I was confused by the thoughts that crowded my mind
    And darkened my heart,
    Searching and hoping for a way — for a way out —
    Which did not seem obvious,
    Given that I found myself in the labyrinth of death,
    In a world suspended, beneath that of the mortals.

    How I found myself in that world, I think I have remembered it:
    that chariot of skeletons and spectres, of demons from the underworld,
    had overwhelmed me and taken me away
    into their grotesque world of nightmares.

    Monsters adorned in sparse and ancient garments
    wore grotesque masks and stared at me with their dead,
    Yet burning eyes,
    as if they could read my heart,
    and they sneered at my fears and weaknesses,
    and at my ethereal, mortal being.

    I had become a captive of that world, a world of shadows and wraiths.
    Subjugated to their power, I could not resist,
    And my steps grew heavier and heavier,
    as if they echoed the weight of my heart,
    which had become a heap of metal shards and thorns.

    Exhausted and bloodless, I surrendered,
    and no longer felt that languid sense of torpor and melancholy.
    Horror and chills had gripped my entire body,
    And the beating of my heart stopped
    like a broken pendulum clock.

    I crossed the Eleventh Gate, seventeen times seventeen,
    And with each passing, a part of my heart fell
    upon the ground made of bones and carcasses and mud and buried souls.
    And thus it was that I collapsed,
    into a terrible slumber.
    Of death.
    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

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