The speaker is stuck in a flat, frustrated mood. The first three lines describe a storm that fails to do anything useful: lightning threatens, but the rain neither sparks a fire nor soaks the earth. It is all noise and no result. The speaker applies this to himself, admitting he has "lost a chance to create despite ritual." He did what was expected, yet nothing came of it.
The second stanza shifts from the sky to a small, personal scene. The day ends, and a woman leaves with a kiss. The speaker is left sulking in the dark with a glass, probably a drink, though the poem doesn't say what is in it. Judging by the tone, he feels lonely and a little sorry for himself.
The final line is blunt: talking about nirvana is "stupid." After a day of empty gestures and a quiet, moody evening, spiritual release seems like a grand word with no use here. The mood is dry, tired, and honestly unimpressed with itself.