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Her Insan Ailem: Everyone is Family, Everywhere is Home

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Abhijit Naskar

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“Let's start a tradition - a tangible tradition of integration. Instead of celebrating our own culture, let's dedicate each festival of ours to our sisters and brothers from another culture - let's celebrate their goodness, their laughter, their wisdom - so that one day, our children may wake up to a world where there is no "our culture and their culture", just "human culture".”

TraditionOnenessCelebrationDiversity And InclusionCultural IntegrationUnderstanding OthersUniversal AcceptanceInterfaith DialogueFestivalFestivities
Book:The Centurion Sermon: Mental Por El Mundo
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“Home is a people, not a place. Move to a different city, and anyone from your hometown will feel like family. Move to a different country, and the very sight of someone from your native country will make you emotional. Move to space, and the very sight of earth will wreak tears of joy. We keep bickering over trivial things like race, religion, gender, sexuality, status and so on, because even in this day and age we still take human life for granted. Ask an astronaut, and they'll tell you, whether they can find any trace of those prehistoric barriers from up there in space.”

NationalismFundamentalismWorld PeaceDiversity And InclusionOne HumanityGlobal HarmonyGlobal CitizenCultural IntegrationUniversal AcceptanceWorld Is Family
Book:Her Insan Ailem: Everyone is Family, Everywhere is Home
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“The woman who was saving iguanas opened the cage of the newest arrival and asked if I wanted to hold him. She showed me how to slip my forearm under his scaly belly and bring him to my chest, not unlike soothing a colicky baby, though the iguana showed no distress and breathed evenly against my body, not cold, not warm, as if he didn’t mind being suspended in a stranger’s arms, as if nothing could surprise him in the tumble of the world he’d been swept up into. The iguana was strapped into a thin black harness that made him look like a leatherman from the Castro, an old queer with spiked hair and his wrinkled dewlap. I’d had a bad day, well really a bad year, and the one before that wasn’t good either. My child wasn’t talking to me and I’d stopped talking to everyone else. The iguana was still as a monk in prayer, all that moved were his ruched eyelids which opened and closed over his orange eyes. His chest filled and emptied with the dry hot air we shared. I thought to myself, even this is something.”

PoetryHopeNaturePoemComfortWildlifeIguanas
Author:Ellen Bass
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