Death Poem by Bishnupada Sethi

Everything passes into that
Devouring, swallowing mouth:
Dear, beautiful things get digested
Not known where these go.
For centuries and ages
This is a process in motion.
The bunker does not get filled up
And still getting filed up,
And still be filling up
With all our flesh, mind, body and dreams.

Is it a dead end tunnel?
Has any one crossed that
And seen any light outside?
Do we have any ability
To find an answer
Or are we supposed to live
Without the raise of eyebrows.