That Place Called Sagada

They headed north,
way up in the
Mountain Province,
riding a local
bus, but
seated way in the rear.
It was freezing;
you could turn on the
by opening a window.

It was her first time,
but he'd been here before,
when it was still
a provincial mountain town,
both a tourist destination
and a hashish haven.

They wanted to do it
like in that
romantic comedy movie,
hoping that
and evergreens
would be enough
kindle to reignite
their spark
that was lost.

All they could see
were mountains,
far as the eye could see.
A mountain view
so spectacular
that only
360° IMAX
can capture it
with justice.

But that night, no
sparks ignited.
No lost emotions
foundations were set,
expectations were levelled,
and lessons were learned.

Marriage is a mountain,

one which you must
climb. And conquer.
That would be
going against gravity,
so there will be
effort exerted.
There is no
straight road
to the summit;
there are zig-zags,
blind corners,
and alternating
one-way passes.

Teamwork is crucial.
Climbing is a team effort.

There is no such thing
as a solo mountaineer.
There is a team;
an expedition.
At least two, there are.
A climber, and a belayer.
And they can switch roles.

That night,
down on the forest floor,
looking up at the
star-studded sky,
both of them
wondered what it would
be like to live
on a mountain.

*Sun, 31 Jan 2015. SAG.MTP.PHL.

Sting Lacson

A writer. By degree and by profession. Also strongly advocates ten-finger typing to all writers because that's what you do for a living, so be efficient at it.

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My Literary Side

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