What time is it in China?

 What time is it in China?

In Beijing, the bells of the Drum Tower must have rung by now,

钟鼓楼, their deep voices spreading across the rooftops,

carrying the weight of morning into the folds of the city.

Do the 胡同 still whisper at dawn?

The narrow alleyways, soaked in 茶 and dust,

where shadows moved with purpose,

And I thought I belonged—

是我的家, I once said,

Though the stones beneath my feet

could tell I was just passing through.

I can still hear the cadence of the streets,

the hurried exchange of 毛 for steamed buns,

The sharp laughter of strangers under neon skies.

Their words drifted past me,

a language I could taste but never hold,

tones rising and falling like sparrows

I never learned to follow.

What time is it in China?

Perhaps in Xi’an, the gong calls pilgrims to temples,

or in the red glow of lanterns near 地坛公园,

The trees shiver with secrets they will never share.

I wonder if the air feels lighter there,

If the stars above Beijing remember me,

回来, they might whisper.

But I am here, far away,

measuring time in a language I barely speak,

watching the clock and its empty hands,

as if longing can bridge oceans,

As if hours can bring me closer to a place

I was never meant to leave.