07/05/2010

"Tales from The Amazon" by René Volpi - Short stories

Srinagar is the Muslim-dominated capital of Kashmir, India’s northernmost state. Resting in a valley between snow-capped Himalayas whose peaks are visible even on cloudy days, local tourist paraphernalia boasts that the city is “Paradise on Earth.”

via short-stories.posterous.com

This is a cool way to marry someone!

Jul 5, 2010 9:30:45 PM | Current Affairs, Travel

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Letters of Love in the Wind A love-sick medieval warrior send a poem to his bride. Don't miss it! All I write, I write for you, my dear. My adventures, wins, and defeats. All. I exist on these pages only because you exist, reading them. You are the only reason for my existence, and without you, I'd fall into despair. Don't ever be too lonely, my love; never cease to read my prose. I can't live without it; it is my oxygen. It is the reason for living, for without your attention, I am nothing. Nothing, my love. Mountains can move, and floods could dissolve them, as impossible rains never stop. All could happen, my love, and yet, I shall return. But without you reading these letters, my purpose on this Earth ceases to be. No one ever loved you like this, my beloved. No one ever will. A thousand years might pass, but the spirit of my love will remain, still, whispering in the wind. I am perpetually yours. ~o~ (Latin Version for the ones who enjoy the language): "Pro omnibus argenteis in mundo, scripturam non desistam. Omnia quae scribo, tibi scribo, mea cara. Meae perigrinationes, meae evagationes. Omnia. Hic exsisto in his paginis solummodo quia tu ibi es, ea legens. Tu es unica causa meae existentiae, et sine te in desperationem decidam.” Noli umquam me deserere, mea vita, numquam desine legere meam prosam. Est meum oxygenium, est meum incantamentum. Est causa vivendi, nam sine tua attentione nihil sum. Nihil, mea vita. Montes moveri possunt, inundationes totos comitatus mergere possunt, imbres impossibiles qui numquam cessant possunt evenire, omnia possunt accidere, mea vita. Sed sine te, qui has litteras legis, propositum meum in hac terra desinit esse. Ego tuus in perpetuum. ~o~ By Elimende Inagella on Unsplash LOVE POEMS Quick Edit Comment 6 Share About the Creator Rene Volpi Rene Volpi I'm from Italy and write every day. Being a storyteller by nature, I've entertained (and annoyed) people with my "expositions" since I was a child, showing everyone my primitive drawings, doodles, and poems. Still do! Leave me a comment :) Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator. Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work. Subscribe For Free Reader insights Insights submitted by your readers will appear here. How does it work? Comments (4) Allow comments on this story Rene Volpi SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS…(OPTIONAL) Share your thoughts… Comment Lacy Loar-Gruenler Lacy Loar-Gruenler about 12 hours ago Just what the world needs now, Rene, your lovely, exquisite words about everlasting love. Beautiful! 1 reply Reply Dr Mehmet Yildiz Dr Mehmet Yildiz about 16 hours ago Beautifully crafted and inspiring piece. 1 reply Reply Dharrsheena Raja Segarran Dharrsheena Raja Segarran about 16 hours ago Oh wow, this was sooooo beautifully crafted! Loved this SOOOOOO muchhhhhh! 1 reply Reply Toby Heward Toby Heward about 19 hours ago Very realistic 1 reply Reply Keep reading More stories from Rene Volpi and writers in Poets and other communities. Liberating and Comforting Acceptance Begetting Charm Disclosing Exquisite Form Giving Harmonious Instances Justifying Karmic Liberation Moreover RV By Rene Volpi 7 days ago in Poets storms i waited for the day i would learn to hate you instead of pining for your love that never was. i waited for beautiful S By Sara 3 days ago in Poets RAIN Rain, oh gentle rain, Falling from the sky, Washing away our pain, Bringing tears to our eye. With every drop that falls, MJ By Melania J.L. about 8 hours ago in Poets The Mantra In the early morning of February 11th, a whisper is barely audible above the dull sound of a fog horn. A monk sits, quietly tracing spirals with his finger in the piles of ground glass in front of him. The mantra he chants would leave anyone else tongue-tied, but he recites it with such melody that it sounds like a song. In his other hand, he holds an obelisk, that begins to glow after the tenth recitation of the mantra. MN By Mollie Narutovics 3 days ago in Fiction Rene Volpi V+ Written by Rene Volpi

Rene Volpi

Italo-Argentine expat writer now living in the US. Published author. Amazon KDP, Substack, Medium, etc. Ex Photojournalist.

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