In halls where healing hands once graced,
Where life and hope were tightly laced,
A shadow fell, so deep and stark,
Within the walls of R.G. Kar.
The oath to care, to save, to mend,
A vow each doctor swore to tend,
But in that sacred space one night,
A dark injustice stole the light.
A healer’s hand, so strong and sure,
Now trembled with a heart impure,
The trust that patients freely gave,
Turned into a hollow grave.
No cry for help, no plea, no scream,
Could wake the world from its dream,
Where safety in the doctor’s hand,
Was thought to be a sacred stand.
A woman came with hopes and fears,
But left in silence, filled with tears,
Her dignity was stripped away,
In the place where trust should stay.
Her voice now echoes in the halls,
A ghostly whisper that softly calls,
For justice, truth, and dignity,
In the face of such iniquity.
But let her story not just fade,
Into the depths where shadows wade,
Let it ignite a burning fire,
To rise against, to never tire.
For every mother, sister, wife,
Deserves respect, deserves her life,
And doctors must, with every breath,
Uphold their vows till their own death.
So let this tale of pain and wrong,
Become a force, fierce and strong,
To change the system, mend the scar,
That stains the name of R.G. Kar.
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