Talking To Monkshood

In search of
Nirvana. To blow out
or you want to be extinguished
after exploding the pod.

History betrays.
Its stout stings cause blues
I love the wars but
not your bad blood.

There were smothered screams,
and there were innumerable faces.
You dig out the charm―
for remaining anonymous.

Kneeling before invisible
god, the absurd icons,
you start whimpering.
Does it bring liberation from
one trap to another?

O god, we run after you
when there was no answer.