At night I climb alone to reach my terrace,
To search the heights, but stars do not appear.
Though sometimes drifting moons will come in view,
The silver sparks of light remain quite hidden.
I asked them why the velvet sky is empty;
They told me it was caused by light pollution.
“Can there be such a thing as light pollution?”
I wondered, standing lonely on my terrace.
“Can it alone make all the heavens empty?
Is this the reason stars do not appear?
Is this the veil that keeps the glory hidden
And steals away the grandeur of the view?”
Back in the village, beauty filled the view,
A world that knew no shadow of pollution.
No shooting stars or planets stayed long hidden,
For there, we lived without a stone-built terrace.
Beneath those tiles, the wild would oft appear;
The streams were full, and nothing there was empty.
The hearts of all the folk were never empty;
The green and golden fields composed the view.
In flooded paddies, seedlings would appear,
In air and water free from all pollution.
Our neighbor built a house that had a terrace,
Where heavy, ripening mangoes hung half-hidden.
A field-rat by a lurking snake was hidden,
While houses in the city stood quite empty.
We climbed the stairs to reach the neighbor’s terrace,
To catch a broader, soaring, aerial view
Of ancient lands untouched by modern pollution,
And watched the evening’s yellow lamps appear.
In morning stalls, the buyers would appear;
The covers rose to show what lay once hidden.
Each fruit was pure and clean of all pollution;
The shelves of toxic chemicals were empty.
The market was a vibrant, colored view—
At night, we sought the stairs toward the terrace.
We lay upon the terrace, watching stars appear;
The clouds made sure the view stayed dark and hidden,
Leaving the sky quite empty of pollution.
