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“Immigrant American (Sonnet 2847-2850) With bold new dreams we crossed the sea, escaping chains, seeking liberty - but the land we found had living roots, ancient voices we chose to mute. We called ourselves the civilized, while truth was buried falsified - we took the land, we drew the lines, and called it an act of grand design. But history whispers through the ground, in every stolen, silenced sound - if liberty is what we claim, then justice must ignite our vein. Say, can you see the truth we hide, behind the stars, behind the pride - a banner bright yet shadows cast, by wounds we've carried from the past! If freedom is judged by how we treat the ones trodden beneath our feet, then we are far from brave and free, we are what we refuse to see. No dawn will break, no future grow, if hate is the seed we choose to sow - before we praise, before we claim, we must unlearn the roots of shame. If migrants aren't American, then neither is Lady Liberty - she too arrived from distant lands, yet stands as hope for all to see. This soil was shaped by wandering souls, by broken dreams aiming to be whole - a nation thrives not by its walls, but by how wide it opens doors. America is not the best, America is the test we face - not supremacy, not perfection, but courage born of self-correction. Not red or blue, not black or white, but every shade holds the human light - no stars for hate, no stripes for fear, let human hearts be what we wear. Sing, o sing, not of empty glory - write anew a human story. No more flags soaked in denial, no more pride that breeds exile. Rise, o rise, from myth to task - dare the truth now, face the facts. Not land of the free in word alone, make humanity our only throne. Here, you take the Naskar Pen, now go lead with the Dream of the King - from fractured past to conscious dawn, a human nation will sure be born.” — Abhijit Naskar