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When, In Deep Despair

When in deep despair, melancholy takes my hand
Carresses my cheek gently and for the life of me
The words don't come and I cannot speak

The words like still pools reflect dark moonless nights
Emotions that have plundered and run away
To mountain hideouts

Sensitivity and argument
Music and metronomy
Strings and wood
Voices and fingers

Leave me thus shaken by their power
Of enchantment; all that I saw and read
Felt and dreamt here and there and everywhere

When in deep despair I think of my mother's love
And my old father who always asks for me
In spite of my age; the trust and devotion

I gave to some, often unreturned
But that doesn't matter. Cycles of life and love
Go away and come back again

When in deep despair I wonder and reflect
Melancholy is a friend, not a fiend but for whom
There is none, noone to touch my hand today.

Copyright: Rani Turton

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