Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: write

  • The Visions Of My Soul

    The Visions Of My Soul

    The visions of my soul strike my mind
    I never see to end of the motionless disheartenment
    In silence, I wait for a prolonged rain to end
    I know the world will not last forever
    In hope, I live a dreamless life made of disillusions
    Lies in the deepest darkness with no return at all
    Where everything is dim and the night is quiet
    The rising waves and the gloaming break me
    Surprise and wonder echoes seem to be heard from afar

    The visions of my soul fly like a rose
    They are born to face the earth’s fate
    I have learned how to dream
    A new life is present
    Every word is not a mystery
    It is the only way to be
    Unmindful and alone
    I have never known of all the rituals I dreamt
    No one should know

    The visions of my soul go back to the years and life’s past
    A long journey is waiting now for me
    A perfect existence to read
    Though I still enjoy thinking about perspectives
    I’m looking forward to each night with sadness
    Perhaps it has been written without rhymes
    I cannot always be concerned in ways far away too much longer to write
    A very different way to be in art
    I see words as they were assigned to me for the way I exist

    The visions of my soul have vanished in the sky
    And as the birds cease singing in their nest
    At twilight, my memories fade away
    My heart is close to the firmament and yet so free
    The dreams, the air, the sky, the sea, the trees and the earth help me to find myself
    I glimpse the bright clouds and the leaves flying down
    Whilst the stars gleam upon me
    I become free from those old and deceitful longings.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Shadows Of Memories

    Shadows Of Memories

    Shadows of memories
    They are made and forgotten
    There is a thought I lost time ago
    Who cares about the time?
    I am walking alone on the way to my intentions
    Things do seem fine and picturesque
    A lifetime was then lost
    The world wants to regress
    Life would be extraordinary without vanity

    Shadows of memories unfold
    Like purple-tainted screams
    While the eyes are still flying
    Behind the illusion to exist
    Just as I once had said
    The presence is no longer desirable
    If my true vision could see
    The sea seemed to be in bloom
    A new life comes once more

    Shadows of memories
    While the world is lost on Earth
    Being destined to doom
    A unique moment comes when old mysteries are learned
    And an hour becomes too long
    Time is the beauty of a life’s mission
    In my mind dwells a calm night shadow
    Dressing in love’s desire

    Shadows of memories are lost
    Time keeps ticking pleasantly
    Instant grief is left forgotten in the abyss of oblivion
    I am sleepless, and I feel unseen
    Only a dream and sorrow are discovered in my treasure chest
    Since the same frolic is always played
    It is rare to be happy to care when life is quite sad
    And respect and love will only thrive on being authentic
    In ways far gone, trust should never have been destroyed

    Shadows of memories remain
    No life should be taken for granted
    Dreams and thoughts wander together
    Spring came into my space
    My slumber is a place of joy and regret
    A mirage of infinity
    The stars of memories are fading high
    The soul is nothing but a breath and an illusion
    In the sunshine and rain, the happiness is all gone

    Shadows of memories in my mind
    Trying to live till they start to fade
    I write a lot of words that I want to release
    But nothing was forgotten in my senses
    When I found out my heart
    Home is in the sky
    Occasionally, roses play with stars
    Everything is peaceful
    Waiting for whatever might happen tomorrow.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • I Don’t Like Writing

    I Don’t Like Writing

    I Don’t Like Writing

    I don’t like writing
    Nevertheless, it is an unavoidable activity for me, such as breathing
    As long as silence talks to me, many impressions crowd into my mind
    Often I stay idle, wondering about random ideas
    But I am not able to rationalise all that is inscrutable
    It is as time shows me life in pictures
    Like a collection of many old miniature paintings
    Some of them are blurred
    And others are very unambiguous
    All those words of mine give only sporadic impressions about myself
    All those poems of mine are only fragments of me
    My poetry is accessible for everyone to read
    My poetry is not trapped in a book
    My poetry is absolutely a wild living thing that breaths
    Hence, I chose the freedom to express myself straightforwardly.
    Esther Racah

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