The light of the Western Regions, the twelve hours of Shache

Morning light climbs onto the carved wooden windows of the old teahouse The copper kettle boils with a thousand-year tea fragrance The elderly wearing flower hats collect time with their wrinkles Each line is an extension of the Silk Road At ten in the morning, the Muqam Palace The twelve-string satar strings tremble Notes fly like pigeons across the glazed dome Colliding into fragmented light and shadow on the blue brick walls Suddenly you understand— Some civilizations have never gone far They have only changed the way they breathe The bazaar maze at noon Figs ferment honeyed words in baskets The crisp sound of hand-cracked walnuts is the rhythm of the market Aydalis silk brushes past fingertips Like Tianshan snowmelt flowing into the Yarkand River Here Bargaining is also poetry Every Uyghur merchant’s eyes Hide the stars of the ancient Loulan city Dusk climbs the Xuanzang preaching platform The wind brings fragments of the "Great Tang Records on the Western Regions" Monks and caravans have all become grains of sand Only the poplar trees still practice Writing Sanskrit verses with fallen leaves When starlight fills the Yarkand King’s Mausoleum Moonlight drapes a thin veil over the tiled tomb You will find The most captivating thing about Shache is not the scenery But time itself— It has taken a nap here Slowing the clock by six hundred years Travel tips: √ Learn half a phrase of Uyghur: “Yaxshim” (Hello) √ Let the warmth of rose naan pass through your palms √ Daydream for half a day under the century-old walnut tree √ Collect a fallen leaf from the Amanishahan Memorial Hall This is not a list of attractions It is a living history site While time flies rapidly elsewhere Shache still preserves for you The most authentic breathing rhythm of the Western Regions