Nasruddin at the Gate
At the gate, a guard holding a book stopped Nasruddin.
“Where do you come from?”
Nasruddin thought for a moment.
“From wherever I was allowed to pass yesterday.”
The guard frowned.
“I mean – which land do you belong to?”
Nasruddin looked down at his feet.
“These belong to the road. The rest of me is just passing through.”
The guard laughed.
“Everyone belongs somewhere.”
Nasruddin pointed to a flock of birds crossing the sky.
“Ask them for their papers – quick, before they land! They crossed three borders without permission while you were still asking me questions.”
“But birds aren’t people,” the guard objected.
“Exactly. That’s why they have more rights. They never agreed to stop moving.”
He stepped closer and lowered his voice.
“Long before gates learned to count, people walked the earth the same way – following rain, grass, work, love and hope. No stamps. No owners. Just life.”
The guard hesitated.
“So which is your land?”
Nasruddin smiled.
“I own nothing.
And no land owns me.”
Then he walked past the gate.
The world was a home long before it became a map.
Happy International Migrants Day to all migrants – i.e., all us humans and other moving creatures! 💖 🌍 🙏
