In the heart of Kolkata,
A tragedy unfolded,
In shadows deep, where innocence weeps,
The darkness of violation grips another heart.
Moumita Debnath, a trainee doctor,
In R. G. Kar’s halls, met despair.
Battles the aftermath, wounds still bleeding.

A seminar room, once filled with hope,
Now echoed with pain, a life’s tragic slope.
Her eyes, mouth, and soul bled,
Silenced forever, innocence dead.

In the shadowed alleys of Kolkata’s heart,
Where pain and darkness tear our souls apart,
He sees the headlines, the gruesome tale,
As a man, questioning his very core, “Are we failing? What are we fighting for?”

He wonders how it came to this,
That men could stoop so low,
They dismiss The sanctity of life, the sacred trust,
And leave a young woman’s body in the dust.

A question lingers, heavy in the air,
Are we men failing, beyond repair?
Or is it darkness, lurking deep within,
A primal urge, a twisted sin?

“Are we men failing?” he asks the night,
As candlelight flicker, hearts take flight,
He thinks of his own mother, sister, daughter,
And feels the weight of guilt upon his shoulders.
For every victim who suffers in silence,
He questions, “Are we...