An invisible fire that we cannot see, Creeps through the rafters of sky and of sea. It holds not the flicker, the smoke, or the glare, But a silent, sharp hunger that lingers in air. We talk of the carbon, the black clouds of coal, While this ghost in the shadows consumes the whole.
The pipelines are leaking, the meadows are deep, With promises broken while the policy sleeps. The venting of riches, of fuel turned to waste, A poison we're breathing with sickening haste. It's a thief in the system, a hole in the plan, Slipping right through the tight grip of man.
Yet here in the halls where the future is cast, We stand at the threshold, the end of the past. For if we would silence this heat in the night, We must drag the invisible into the light. Not with more pledges, or ink on a page, But with clear, open data to anchor the age.
The cure is within us, a choice we can take, To patch up the systems for our children's sake. To capture the vapor, to seal up the vent, And reclaim the power we've recklessly spent. It is low-hanging fruit on a tree growing dry, The fastest way back to a cooler blue sky.
So here in Antalya, the place where we turn, To quench the cold embers that quietly burn. No longer unseen, let the mandate be clear: To face the invisible, to conquer the fear. For the fire we cannot see, we can surely contain, If we act for the earth, and the life that remains.
— George Wushi Deborah