In halls of sterile light and steel,

Where pulses echo, hearts to heal,

A quiet truth begins to rise—

Care can’t be measured by device.

 

For every chart, each test result,

There lies a gap, a hidden fault,

Where voices lost, unheard, remain—

A silent burden wrapped in pain.

 

From city streets to rural lanes,

Health divides in unseen chains,

A mother waits, her voice denied,

As walls of care grow far and wide.

 

For in the spaces where we fall,

We search for voices but fail the call,

Yet far too often, eyes are glazed,

As charts and numbers leave us dazed.

 

Despite the needs that linger near,

The call for change will never disappear,

Where time is short and tasks remain,

The human story bears the strain.

 

So may we strive, with open hearts,

To see the whole, not just the parts,

For true connection, clear and bold—

We must challenge norms and break the mold

 

May we learn, through heart and mind,

That health is not for one to find,

So doctors must unite, together fulfill—

A healing bridge, a shared goodwill.