Was like landing
On an alien planet
A stranger in a strange land
Sights, sounds, smells
Unlike anywhere else
In a country
Unlike anywhere else
Sights, sounds, smells
Unlike anywhere else
In a country
Unlike anywhere else
To Tibet
In the heart of Beijing
It’s so decreed
By The Party
She’d seen my camera
A foreigner with a camera
“Take my picture!”
Happily, I oblige
Line her up with the street
The cyclist, passing by
This is no tourist destination. It is a small, busy, virile town of subtle charm like so many other small, busy, virile towns. You will never discover the charms if you arrive on the train and depart on the next bus.
I nodded an assent, then shook my head… paused. “What does that mean?”
She told me. I must still not have understood, because I’ve forgotten. Only the phrase is left. I couldn’t focus, and the image in my mind drifted away.
Like this photo of a dragon-handled brazier at Kong Miao, the Confucius Temple in Beijing. Ever so slightly, focussed too deep. And like a photograph, there is no way, hard as I’ve tried, to bring China fully into focus.
I am in Kashgar’s thrall. Its people, its buildings, its colours, its smells. Its efficient simplicity, driven by foot and hoof on these back alleys and lanes. The smiles; the furrowed brows; the twinkling eyes, the hard glares: of shopkeepers and shoppers.
All the better
In bunches
A sun hangs low and wan
Weakly luminous
Shadowless
Its light dispersed
By an atmosphere
Still, unmoving
Thick with particles
Layers of mystery
Peeled away
By time
Politics
And Money