The advantages and disadvantages of the rising electronic books and the decline in paper books.
Coming a decrease in the number of paper books with increasing the number of e-books is believed to be a beneficial step forward by some people while this is not thought by others. Having more e-books would certainly be a good way of receiving information but there will also be some drawbacks.
Having more e-books than paper books is advantageous in some certain aspects. First and foremost, we will have great amount of convenience. To wit, we would be able to carry a number of e-books in a simple gadget. For instance, books could be placed in our little phones or computers that gives us much opportunity to use them wherever we need. Secondly, majority of people, especially students could afford more e-books than paper books because of their cost. Another fact is that, the more book production is, the more forest trees are being destroyed which makes e-books to be eco-friendly. The reason is that trees are used for making paper as well as book. Also, 153 billion gallons of water is consumed in order to produce books every year.
From an opposite angle, notwithstanding the advantages of the rise in the number of e-books there are some disadvantages too. The main demerit is that we might come across health problems. For instance, too much reading e-books has bad impact on our eye-sight which may lead to eye diseases such as Presbyopia, short-sighted disease. Also, by using small screen sizes there may appear headaches and problems with sleep. Another fact is that, while reading books from gadgets, readers may have digital distributions like notifications or alerts which can disrupt the attention of a reader. Paper books offer a unique reading experience which varies from reading on a screen.
Taking everything into consideration, although there are plenty of benefits in the rise of e-books, it does not mean that this decrease of paper books is apart from benefits, it’s all about preference. If people prefer convenience, unlimited options and ease the best choice is e-books. And if the feeling of holding books or the smell of books and the thrill of manually turning the pages of books then, there is no reason to avoid from traditional books.
Dildorakhon Eshmurodova was born in 2000 July 21, in Syrdarya region, Uzbekistan. She is a third-year student of Tashkent university of information technologies named after Mukhammad al-Khwarizmi, in the faculty of Economics and management in the field of ICT.
Dildorakhon is one of the talented students at her university. She is a participant of several international conferences and her creative and scientific articles were published in foreign journals and magazines such as “Galaxy international interdisciplinary research journal”, “American Journal of Social and Humanitarian Research” and etc. She knows English and Russian languages and is engaged in literally translations as well as takes apart in different competitions. For instance, she is a winner of the competition of “Student of the year – 2022”, “The best essay – 2022”, “Olympiad from English language” and etc.
Dildorakhon’s first creative work is published in the American Anthology named “Talented Voices Of Uzbekistan” with the title “Relationship between personnel management and production”. Also, her creative article named “History of economic development in Uzbekistan” was printed in the Anthology of “Rising Flowers Of Uzbekistan”. Her first personal book, a collection of Uzbek folk-tales translated into English, was issued in America by Amazon.com under the name “Uzbek Folk-Tales” and reached over 26 countries of the world. All of these international books are on sale on the 26 countries of the world. Recently, she has published her creative works in the Turkish Anthology named “Çiçekler”(“Flowers”) as well as American Anthology named “New page”.
Moreover, Dildorakhon is accepted as an active member of “Juntos por Las Letras” organization of Argentina, “Iqra foundation” organization of India, “Аsih Sasami” organization of Indonesia and international organization of “National human rights and humanitarian federation”. Also, she is a successful participant of “Digital Internship Program”(DIP).
In addition, Dildorakhon has successfully completed courses and certificated by international companies such as “The Fundamentals of Digital Marketing” organized by Google Digital Garage and “Software Testing” held by international “EPAM” company also certified course “Foundations of Project Management” offered by “Coursera”.
EL MARCHAR DE LAS PALABRAS
Estoy un poco preocupado, hijo. Me pregunto qué me estará pasando. Llevo una temporada difícil y me preguntaba si te has dado cuenta de ello.
Ha comenzado hace algunos años. Cierta dificultad en encontrar ciertas palabras, ciertos objetos ciertos… Al inicio no le dediqué demasiada atención, pero precisamente se trata de mi atención dispersa, y no recuerdo entonces si fue así, o esa dispersión devino en falta de dedicación a la mencionada atención.
Inicialmente fueron pequeños detalles, como ir extraviando cabellos, o perder ciertas cosas, principalmente gran parte de la visión perfecta que poseía. O que mi prolija barba azabache se convierta en un revoltijo gris, que tan mal luce.
Ir cambiando la vestimenta, y en lugar de vestir como el joven que soy, pues me queda la ropa de más talle, usar el horrible atuendo de gastados colores que visten los mayores.
Pero no es lo más grave. No. Hay otros síntomas que me asustan aún más, hijo.
Te menciono los más aterradores. He comenzado a olvidar palabras, entiendes, ¡palabras! La mayor bendición que he tenido en la vida… palabras.
Las primeras que olvidé pronunciar fueron: abuelos. En ambos géneros. No recuerdo la fecha ni la temporada, solo que repentinamente esas palabras y sus sinónimos se fueron alejando de mi boca. Y aunque mi mente recuerda y reconoce hasta las lágrimas, en imágenes, ya no pude volver a pronunciarlas.
Le siguieron otras, pero fue tremendo cuando ya no volví a mencionar “Papá”. Era apenas un jovencito y aunque en cada sueño él me visitaba, ya no pude decirlo, no entiendo, no pude. El sufrimiento me turbó tanto que hasta olvidé por unos años el llanto. Pero éste, como perro fiel, siempre regresa.
Le siguieron otras como “mejores amigos”, “reuniones sociales”, “risas distendidas”, “abrazos afectuosos”, pero son frases más complejas que fui omitiendo quizás para que no se evidenciara el avance de mi estado.
Al transcurrir de unos años, que se me dificulta mensurar, fui perdiendo otras palabras muy importantes… “Esposa”, por ejemplo. ¿Cómo hacer para ya no poder mencionar esta palabra cuando el corazón sangra de continuo? … se extraña, que resulta extraña, la palabra.
Tal situación me ha generado graves consecuencias. El médico me ha indicado que quizás me afecten los síntomas de algún cuadro severo de ansiedad, de alguna fobia. Él intenta medicarme pero me resisto a depender de unas píldoras, que probablemente pronto olvidaría tomar.
Y el desastre mayor ha sobrevenido recientemente.
He olvidado pronunciar una palabra que me parte el alma, y que me ha llevado a la mayor depresión. Que me ha dejado vacío, carente de ilusión, pleno de hastío. Creo que debes comprenderlo, hijo. He olvidado la palabra “Mamá”. Ya no sale su sonido de mi boca. Y aunque aún siento su abrazo en cada brisa, como pronuncia mi nombre en las noches cuando me acuesto, deseándome felices sueños, aunque al despertar creo sentir su mano acariciando mi cabello… ya no puedo pronunciarla.
Sí, ya sé, no son necesarias estas lágrimas. Eres joven y fuerte, tanto como yo, hijo, pero quizás sea más sensible… alguno de ellos, a quienes ya no puedo pronunciar, solía decirme que éramos iguales, que teníamos un amplio mundo interior al cual no dejábamos que nadie se adentrara. Seguramente eres diferente, extrovertido, sin el pecado de los años a cuestas. Ya sé, no debo lagrimear, los hombres no lloran… o lloran… no recuerdo la frase. La estoy olvidando. Pero me duele, me quema por dentro. Como un volcán incapaz de estallar.
Sí, hubo muchísimas otras palabras que olvidé, pero siempre he tratado de suplantarlas, para que no se den cuenta de mis fallos, tan solo soy un humano, un fino cabello a merced de la tempestad que se avecina. ¿No lo comprendes hijo?… no importa… tan solo te pido que no me observes con lástima y me hagas un gran favor.
Toma un retrato de quienes aún estamos, los sobrevivientes, portando todos majestuosas sonrisas, bien peinados, bien vestidos, bien abrazados. Y al reverso de la fotografía, coloca en letras bien grandes: “Esta es mi familia”.
Cuando lo hagas, y espero sea pronto porque todo lo olvido más rápido cada vez, haz una copia para mí y guárdamela en el bolsillo de la camisa. Luego abrázame bien fuerte, en silencio, porque hay ciertas ocasiones que no necesitan de palabras y guárdate una copia con la misma frase, para ti, agrégale quien es cada uno.
Porque nunca se sabe, y quizás pronto tu también comiences a olvidar como se pronuncian ciertas palabras. Sin siquiera darte cuenta, de un momento al otro, comiences a olvidar palabras. Es la Vida.
Ojalá pudieras leerme el pensamiento y entenderme.-
THE MARCH OF WORDS
- By Gustavo M. Galliano
I'm a little worried, son. I wonder what is happening to me. I've had a difficult season and I was wondering if you've realized that.
It has started a few years ago. Some difficulty in finding certain words, certain certain objects... At first I did not pay too much attention to it, but it is precisely my scattered attention, and I don't remember then if it was like that, or that dispersion resulted in a lack of dedication to said attention.
Initially they were small details, like losing hair, or losing certain things, mainly a large part of the perfect vision that he possessed. Or that my neat black beard turns into a mess of gray, which looks so bad.
Keep changing clothes, and instead of dressing like the young man that I am, because the clothes of more size fit me, to wear the horrible attire of worn colors that the older ones wear.
But it is not the most serious. No. There are other symptoms that scare me even more, son.
I mention the most terrifying. I have started to forget words, you understand, words! The greatest blessing I've had in life… words.
The first ones I forgot to pronounce were: grandparents. In both genders. I don't remember the date or the season, only that those words and their synonyms suddenly left my mouth. And although my mind remembers and recognizes even tears, in images, I could no longer utter them.
Others followed, but it was tremendous when I no longer mentioned "Dad." He was just a young man and although in every dream he visited me, I couldn't say it anymore, I don't understand, I couldn't. The suffering disturbed me so much that I even forgot crying for a few years. But this one, like a faithful dog, always returns.
It was followed by others such as "best friends", "social gatherings", "distended laughter", "affectionate hugs", but they are more complex phrases that I was omitting perhaps so that the progress of my condition would not be evident.
As a few years passed, which I find difficult to measure, I was losing other very important words... "Wife", for example. How to do to no longer be able to mention this word when the heart bleeds continuously? ... the word is strange, which is strange.
This situation has generated serious consequences for me. The doctor has told me that perhaps the symptoms of some severe anxiety disorder, of some phobia, affect me. He tries to medicate me but I resist depending on some pills, which I would probably soon forget to take.
And the biggest disaster has recently struck.
I have forgotten to pronounce a word that breaks my soul, and that has led me to the greatest depression. That has left me empty, devoid of illusion, full of boredom. I think you should understand, son. I have forgotten the word "Mom". Her sound no longer comes out of my mouth. And although I still feel her embrace in every breeze, how she pronounces my name at night when I go to bed, wishing me happy dreams, although when I wake up I think I feel her hand caressing my hair... I can no longer pronounce it.
Yes, I know, these tears are not necessary. You're young and strong, just like me, son, but maybe you're more sensitive... one of them, whom I can't pronounce anymore, used to tell me that we were the same, that we had a vast inner world that we didn't let anyone get inside. Surely you are different, extroverted, without the sin of the years in tow. I know, I shouldn't tear up, men don't cry... or cry... I don't remember the phrase. I am forgetting her. But it hurts, it burns me inside. Like a volcano unable to explode.
Yes, there were many other words that I forgot, but I have always tried to supplant them, so that they do not realize my mistakes, I am only a human, a fine hair at the mercy of the coming storm. Don't you understand son?... it doesn't matter... I just ask you not to look at me with pity and do me a great favor.
Take a portrait of those of us who still are, the survivors, all bearing majestic smiles, well combed, well dressed, well embraced. And on the back of the photograph, he puts in very large letters: "This is my family."
When you do, and I hope it's soon because I forget everything faster every time, make a copy for me and put it in my shirt pocket. Then hold me very tight, in silence, because there are certain occasions that do not need words and keep a copy with the same phrase, for yourself, add who each one is.
Because you never know, and maybe soon you too will start to forget how certain words are pronounced. Without even realizing it, from one moment to the next, you start to forget words. That's life.
I wish you could read my thoughts and understand me.-
Nacido en Gödeken, Santa Fe, República Argentina. Escritor, poeta, Jurado en certámenes literarios Internacionales. Periodismo digital. Docente Universitario de la Facultad de Derecho de la UNR, en la asignatura Historia Constitucional Argentina. Miembro del CICSO (Centro de investigaciones en Ciencias Sociales). Secretario Técnico de REDIM.
Se ha desempeñado como Corresponsal Especial en diversas revistas internacionales de Arte y Literatura (Cañ@santa, Sinalefa, ViceVersa, Long Island al Día, RosannaMúsica, etc).
Integra la Red de Escritores en Español (REMES), Poetas de Mundo, Unión Hispano-Mundial de Escritores (UHE), la Fundación César Égido Serrano, Naciones Unidas de las Letras (Ave Viajera y Proyecto Mundial Semillas de Juventud), entre otras. Actualmente es colaborador especial de Revista Poética AZAHAR (España), Revista Literaria-artístico PLUMA y TINTERO (España), Revista Literaria KENAVÒ (Italia) y Revista OFRANDA LITERARA (Rumania) donde también integra el Colegio Editorial.
Ha obtenido distinciones y premios en certámenes y concursos internacionales de cuentos, narrativa, micro relato y poesía. Publicó libros (LA CITA, 5 AUTORES) y participe de antologías y revistas publicadas y traducidas en más de 100 países.
Ha sido designado como Embajador de la Palabra y la Paz por diversas instituciones: WWPO (USA), Círculo de Embajadores Universales de la Paz (Francia / Suiza), Fundación César Égido Serrano y Museo de la Palabra (España).
Reside en Rosario, Santa Fe, República Argentina.
Prof. Gustavo Marcelo GALLIANO
Born in Gödeken, Santa Fe, Argentine Republic. Writer, poet, jury in international literary contests. Digital journalism. University Professor at the Faculty of Law of the UNR, in the subject Argentine Constitutional History. Member of CICSO (Social Sciences Research Center). REDIM Technical Secretary.
He has worked as a Special Correspondent for various international Art and Literature magazines (Cañ @ santa, Sinalefa, ViceVersa, Long Island al Día, RosannaMúsica, etc).
She is a member of the Red de Escritores en Español (REMES), Poetas de Mundo, Union Hispano-Mundial de Escritores (UHE), the César Égido Serrano Foundation, the United Nations of Letters (Ave Viajera and the World Seeds of Youth Project), among others. Currently he is a special contributor to AZAHAR Poetic Magazine (Spain), PLUMA and TINTERO Literary-artistic Magazine (Spain), KENAVÒ Literary Magazine (Italy) and OFRANDA LITERARA Magazine (Romania) where he is also a member of the Editorial College.
He has obtained distinctions and prizes in international contests and contests for short stories, narrative, short story and poetry. He published books (LA CITA, 5 AUTORES) and participated in anthologies and magazines published and translated in more than 100 countries.
He has been designated as Ambassador of the Word and Peace by various institutions: WWPO (USA), Circle of Universal Ambassadors of Peace (France / Switzerland), César Égido Serrano Foundation and Museum of the Word (Spain).
He resides in Rosario, Santa Fe, Argentine Republic.
Soft Magic of Night
And the night descended like soft magic;
Its shadows gripped my soul, binding me
In a memory of another night, finding me
In time’s protected space of moments.
Soft the night was then, too, smiling
With your eyes alight in the darkness;
The moon speaking so rapidly
I lost some of the words of its light.
The moon speaks, still, and the stars
Sigh in this ‘now’, just as they did then.
All the night is a loving flood
Of talking light from the darkness;
Of remembered warmth of a hand
Holding my hand in the stillness;
Of the soft light in your eyes, that filled
My soul with the same inner brightness.
There are lights and words that never die;
They come alive when night descends
Like soft magic shadows of timelessness.
The Measure of Love
My soul dances to the music of your voice;
My feet want to skip every time we meet.
Your eyes speak to me in an ancient tongue
That only my eyes can hear and translate.
My heart riots whenever you look at me.
Yours are the standards I gauge all men –
No other man compares to your fineness.
Honor is your code and truth your religion.
Your lips speak and I hear with my heart;
Your eyes speak love your lips can’t say.
I’ve held you for hours content to listen
To the beating of your heart, knowing
That it beats with devotion for only me.
My life is yours with all my dreams
Leading through reality’s illusions, thrust
Into the ongoing path of everyday living.
Whatever thunderous storms may come,
Whatever lightning may flash and follow,
Everlasting love will be our haven.
Annie Johnson is 84 years old. She is Shawnee Native American. She has published two, six hundred-page novels and six books of poetry. Annie has won several poetry awards from world poetry organizations including; World Union of Poets; she is a member of World Nations Writers Union; has received the World Institute for Peace award; the World Laureate of Literature from World Nations Writers Union and The William Shakespeare Poetry Award. She received a Certificate and Medal in recognition of the highest literature from International Literary Union for the year 2020, from Ayad Al Baldawi, President of the International Literary Union. She has three children, two grandchildren, and two sons-in-law. Annie played a flute in the Butler University Symphony. She still plays her flute.
Six Untitled Monostichs
flour tortilla minnow tomorrow
—
casserole the martian trowels
—
sneeze beep citadel
—
denver me a cake rabbit
—
yes no space breakfast
—
pyramids underscore freedom socks
—
bio/grafJ. D. Nelson’s poems have appeared in many publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of ten print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *Cinderella City* (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). Nelson’s first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. His haiku blog is at JDNelson.net. Nelson lives in Colorado, USA.
Water Bowl
By Taylor Dibbert
He still
Freshens up
London’s water,
It’s usually something
That he does
Once a day,
He doesn’t know
What he should do
With her ashes,
He just knows
That he
Misses her
A lot,
So much,
All the time,
He also knows
That London
Is still here.
Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. He’s author of the Peace Corps memoir “Fiesta of Sunset,” and the forthcoming poetry collection “Home Again.”
Water As a Gift to Life
Water as a ritual symbol of baptism,
A man plunges into the river, vows to the priest to leave his old habits
And emerges sanctified with a prayer
Water as the source of life,
The first morning bath and salutation to the Sun,
The first glass of water as the most precious drink,
And the last meeting with ritual water when a person dies,
He leaves bathed to return to the beginning of this story...
A soul is born into a new body,
While the doctor after the birth of the mother bathes the child
And congratulates the mother who drinks a glass of water with a smile on her face.
Lesson
Everything in life is like a wheel of fortune and misfortune.
Everything changes and is not permanent, our inner attitude is important,
That it is a show for our eyes,
A test for the mind and heart
And above all a great lesson.
Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia.
She is a person to whom from an early age, Leonardo da Vinci's statement "Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard" is circulating through the blood.
That's why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to them.
As a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and foreign literary newspapers, anthologies and electronic media, and some of her poems can be found on YouTube.
Many of her poems have been translated into English, Hungarian, Bengali and Bulgarian due to the need of foreign readers.
She is the recipient of many international awards.
"Trees of Desire" is her second collection of poems in preparation, which is preceded by the book of poems "Moon Circle".
She is a member of the International Society of Writers and Artists "Mountain Views" in Montenegro,and shealso is a member of the Poetry club "Area Felix" in Serbia.
