The garden of nightmares was a wonder in the realm of fantasy,
None could have touched the flowers of such an enchanting garden,
Full of magic spells and arcane secrets.
So oftentimes, it was the obsession of dreamers,
Those who were aware of the potential dangers of such a magical place,
Where thorns were welcome, and no scent would perfume its aura.
Echoes of choirs singing ancient melodies revived that realm,
A world that existed only in the imagination of the subconscious,
A lonely and distant kingdom of beauty and torment.
Not safe was incautiously confiding dark secrets in this hidden alcove,
A garden whose meadows and trees were rooted in deception and betrayal,
Leaving to luring desires the task of enchantment among luscious flowers.
The garden of nightmares was a wonder in the realm of fantasy,
None could have touched the flowers of such an enchanting garden,
Full of magic spells and arcane secrets.
So oftentimes, it was the obsession of dreamers,
Those who were aware of the potential dangers of such a magical place,
Where thorns were welcome, and no scent would perfume its aura.
Echoes of choirs singing ancient melodies revived that realm,
A world that existed only in the imagination of the subconscious,
A lonely and distant kingdom of beauty and torment.
Not safe was incautiously confiding dark secrets in this hidden alcove,
A garden whose meadows and trees were rooted in deception and betrayal,
Leaving to luring desires the task of enchantment among luscious flowers.
In the garden of nightmares, each petal whispered secrets, wrapped in shadows’ embrace,
While the moonlight danced softly, casting dreams on the night sky,
In this garden, silence sang, a melody bittersweet.
Where the vibrant hues of joy clashed with sorrow’s deceit,
The aura was loaded with nostalgia; each whisper was a haunting sigh,
Dreamers wandered through the maze, drawn to what might lie.
Beneath the surface of beauty, where the heartbeats echoed slowly,
A realm of contrasts, light and dark, where both delight and anguish grew,
Yet, amidst the splendour, a red flag lingered near.
For the siren call of yearning masked the lurking fear,
Every bloom bore witness to a soul’s forsaken plight,
Trapped within a labyrinth, lost between day and night.
In the garden of nightmares, some dared to linger, intoxicated by the view,
Chasing visions of a paradise where fantasies come true,
But the thorns they had ignored drew blood from tender dreams.
And this orchard of phantoms revealed its silent screams,
Thus, tread lightly in the dusk where wishes intertwine,
For within that haunting beauty lies a truth so hard to find.
The garden, a mirror reflecting one’s innermost desires,
A sanctuary of longings still set ablaze with fire.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
