One day, the Prophet ﷺ held up the lifeless body of a deformed baby goat—its ears cut or stunted—and turned to his companions. With a knowing gaze, he asked,
“Who among you would buy this for a single dirham?”
The companions, taken aback, responded,
“O Messenger of Allah, what would we do with it? We wouldn’t take it for anything!”
The Prophet ﷺ repeated,
“Would any of you take it for even a single dirham?”
They shook their heads, replying,
“O Messenger of Allah, even if it were alive, we wouldn’t want it. How, then, could we want it now that it is dead?”
Then the Prophet ﷺ delivered a truth that struck deep:
“By Allah, the world is more insignificant to Allah than this goat is to you.”
This was the perspective of the Prophet ﷺ—the greatest man to walk this earth, yet he saw the world for what it truly was: fleeting, temporary, and worthless in comparison to the Hereafter. He reminded us,
“What do I have to do with this world? My example and the example of this world is like that of a traveler who seeks shade under a tree for a short while and then moves on.”
Imagine a man on a long journey, pausing for a brief rest under a tree’s shade. Would he spend all his time decorating the ground beneath him, worrying about the arrangement of the leaves? No—because he knows he must move on. Yet, we treat this world as if it is our final home. We chase, we accumulate, we build—forgetting that, in the end, we take nothing with us except the deeds we’ve sent ahead.
“There is no home for a person after death, except the one he built before he died. If he builds it with good, it will be pleasant to dwell in. If he builds it with evil, then he will be the one who loses.”
So, what are we building? When we return to Allah, what will remain of us? Let us not be distracted by the illusion of permanence. Let us live as travelers—investing not in the shade of a tree, but in the eternal home that awaits us.