I remember

I remember
late that night,
we gathered in circles
inside circles,
as the bedside lamp
illumines the room
in somber orange.

we could only whisper our names
like canticles of ancient Mythos,
softer than the softest breath
but underneath a maelstrom rises
bridled in fear
that we may wake
spirits long gone and
resting.

in those votive hours,
we performed the ritual,
-slow deliberate motions
of pouring
in measured propinquity
and we breathed in painful anticipation.

I met your eyes,
only for an instant
as we raised out treasured plastic cups
to our parched lips,
needing
lusting
wanting
this fire-water to burn itself dry
of plastic to flesh
of air to water
of taste to light, sound, touch
eggyolks and gold to
crimson. when I met your eyes
only for an instant
as you were engulfed in steady
drops
of ocean red.

I felt your blood
turned mine
turned yours
drowning me in cheap beer,
made cheaper by my drowning.

I remember
late that intoxicating night,
like voyeurs and maniacs
we called non-existent gods and
damned ourselves in unending anathema,
for shattered dreams
for broken lives
and hopes of no consequence
now dead.

before bloodshot eyes,
we nurtured
perfervid rebellion –
or,
surrendered in fear?
so we hid behind the only weapons
we knew-
the cups we held in our hands.

we died, too.

it still echoes in my mind, you know.
the wordings of a lost soul
never to be sought,
just wanted,
recovered,
and transfixed into a newfound promise,
betrayed by a blinding truth
that it was not lost
in the first place.

there are nights when I wake up
hoping to recapture the images
with which I remember,
like the fading essences of silver-framed photographs
like treasures so easily found yet easily lost
like a gypsy dance,
a somnambulant reckoning,
bodies rejoicing in circles
inside circles
and
outward.

but the dance ended.
And we are left with only a resonance
to keep the memory alive,
as I gaze at you
from a distance too far,
even beyond what my eyes could see
even before old friends
turned brothers
turned strangers.
I seek refuge
in your wordspinnings:
the worlds you created with a ballpoint pen,
the doors you opened with keys
of language
of truth and sanctimony
only you can understand.

and I wonder
when I can start drowning again
in the beginning
in the middle
in the end
of the lines you so deftly crafted
winged by the purest of souls.

I wonder
when I can start drowning again,
in the familiar trickling of
your blood,
turned mine,
turned yours
before this paper cup
I hold in my hand
overflows –

ISANG TAGAY LANG
1999