Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: Withered Garden

  • Drifting Away

    Drifting Away

    drifting away into nothingness
    into the total self-destruction
    not caring about the reality anymore
    letting the oblivion swallow me
    until nothing remains but only my name carved on a cold stone

    drowning deeply into the abyss of death
    where I will not be anything anymore
    not even memories will be left
    just some rhyme in the realm of dreams and decay

    fearless desires could never be lit up like inextinguishable flames
    but only frozen feelings were ruling the realm of my dreams

    the garden of my lust and passions became a desert
    where weeds of indifference grew like majestic trees
    trees of obliviousness and shallowness

    all my devotion and cherished treasures of love were destroyed by the ominous fire of betrayal
    leaving me a crashed flower with no vital signs
    just a dead flower on the cruel soil made of artificial adoration

    It’s just like a broken doll without impulse and lymph
    left alone to starve the love she really needed
    ready to be devoured by the void like she never existed

    drifting away into the valley of death and obliteration
    glad to have disappeared forever
    with regrets and remorses cling to me like Ivy

    a cruel wind spoils my heart, breaking it into pieces
    leaving me senseless, like buried alive in a trap of disloyalty

    surrendering to my defeat, I let death ruin me
    becoming fragments of stars
    fading away from the world of hypocrisy and diseases

    my screams were just too silent to be heard
    my heartbeats stopped permanently
    nothing anymore was the same
    in a garden of decay and cruelty
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Dead Longings

    Dead Longings

    Dead longings in the hollow of the heart,
    Where love once bloomed, and dreams fled,
    Now echoes fade, they fall apart,
    As night devours, the final thread.

    The garden where desires grew,
    Is withered, choked by endless frost,
    What once was bright, what once was true,
    Now whispers only of what’s lost.

    Forgotten are the hands that clung
    To tender hopes now turned to dust,
    The songs unsung, the hearts unstrung,
    All broken by the weight of rust.

    The wind that stirs the barren plain,
    Brings memories of joy undone,
    Dead longings, cold as rain,
    Now linger like the setting sun.

    No flame remains to pierce the dark,
    No fire to warm the frozen earth,
    For what once burned, a fleeting spark,
    Now dwells within the arms of death.

    The silence sings a mournful tune,
    Of distant days and vanished bliss,
    The stars that crowned the moon at noon
    Now, sleep within the cold abyss.

    What meaning lies in dreams long dead,
    In hopes that time has been stripped away?
    Dead longings, their stories fled,
    Now swallowed by the fading day.

    The house of longing, long entombed,
    Stands crumbled by the march of years,
    Its halls, once bright with life consumed,
    Now echo with forgotten fears.

    Upon the mantel, cold as stone,
    Lie relics of forgotten times,
    And dust has claimed what’s left alone,
    In silence thick as ancient crimes.

    No wind, no glimmer, no ardour remains,
    Just shadows of what used to be,
    A wasteland forged by grief’s cruel chains,
    Where once-beating hearts now cease to plea.

    Desire, now a ghostly call,
    Beckons from the tomb of the past,
    Faded desires feel their fall,
    A flame too weak, too dim to last.

    In haunted dreams, these longings stir,
    But never wake, they never rise,
    Dead longings, a fading blur,
    That lingers in forsaken skies.

    What’s left are shadows, dim and faint,
    Of passions now forever sealed,
    A heart that once could dream and paint,
    Now leaves no wound, no scar revealed.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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