Moods

The Moods which seem so hush

But actually I have to make them shush

Moods who are thieves stealing my moments

Or they are the moments who auction my time

The time that never arrives on time

The time that denies to drop my moods to their moment

But always take them along to the next moment 

Moments that my mood knit for me

For me to wear those knitted moments on a special occasion

That acts as a camouflaging cloak 

The cloak that muffles me with my dearest moods inside

Where I gravitate questioning about atomic physics inside the cloak

And dodge the answers of Wordsworth told to me outside the cloak

Moods that are not liable to my clock 

It is my clock which is liable to them

Moods

That carries me straight from wrecked wooden boat on a stormy night to a red carpet event where I wave under the spotlight

Spotlight that once again has been taking away by my moods

Away like an artist has thrown his artwork on the floor

Because the artwork doesn’t match the artist’s mood.

Moods that make me an artist 

Or it is the art of my moods that made me write this.