Our Story

 It was a beautiful Saturday morning… Catherine was sitting on her favourite Master-sized sofa, the largest one in the living room; fully relaxed and full of life. Her husband, Richard, was in the kitchen dishing out his food to eat while their son, Vince, was on his way out of the house, forgetting that he had household chores to do- ensuring the cleanliness of the house-sweeping, washing and cleaning

As Vince was about getting the door to get out, His mom, looking a little concerned, asked: “Whose place are you going to?”

“Mom, by now, I think you should know where I’m going to!” Vince replied, pouring out his disappointment to the floor of her notice. “Every now and then, you’re fond of asking me of my whereabouts…Mom; don’t you know that I’m a grown young man of thirteen years?”

“Vince, what has come over you?” At that point, Catherine was a bit frightened. “Son, did I do you any wrong asking where you’re going at this time of the morning? This is just 7:30AM, you know…”

“Mom,” Vince interrupted in anger, “a lot has come over me! Mom…a lot! Of course, no thanks to you!!!”

She stood up from the sofa, stared at Vince, keeping mute for a couple of seconds. Her silence was broken soon afterwards. “Vince, have you washed the plates, cleaned the louvers, swept your room and ours?”

“Mom, I’ll do just that when I get home! By the way, I want to visit Oasis, my friend. His place is a few blocks away.”

It was Vince’s ‘I-don’t-care’ response that immediately caught the attention of Richard who just dished o his food, having taking his time to properly wash off the stubborn stains on the plates he wanted to use.  He left the kitchen to attend to the matter.

“Vince, before you walk out that door, I’d love to have a word with you…”

Vince was reluctant to leave the door’s handle at first. But after a stern look from Richard, his reluctance gave way for submission as he left the door’s handle and positioned his body facing him-standing opposite, a few steps away. Richard left where he stood to sit on the Master-sized sofa. Seeing that his wife had been up-standing, looking sad, he lovingly said to her: “Honey, kindly sit with me…sweetheart, all will be fine”.

Catherine sat just by his side, holding passionately Richard’s hands as she stared at her frowning son, just five steps away from his initial position.

“Boy, can you come meet us over here?” Richard asked, gently breaking the bond of closeness with Catherine to let him sit at the middle.

Vince didn’t permit his obedience to unveil itself to his father. That didn’t bother Richard. What mattered to him was his son is between Catherine and himself. Satisfied with what he’d seen, he set the ball of discussion rolling: “Vince, I was at the kitchen when I heard you yell at your mom over a question that didn’t call for it. You even went ahead telling her that you’re now a grown man of thirteen! Hmmm…It’s alright! But should you answer the way you just did?”

“No dad” 

It was obvious Vince’s response didn’t come from a sober heart: His developed stony heart reflected his frowning face. Catherine’s face became colder than it was as she was staring at him. Again, that didn’t matter to Richard…he knew what he was aiming to achieve…

“Good! I want to figure out something…you said you’re a grown man of thirteen…meaning you’re an adolescent! You’re a teenager! Wow! Congratulations, Vince! Welcome to manhood! Before I get into the discussion proper, I’d like to ask, my son, ‘When will you be thirteen?’

“Next month”

“Right! That means you’re twelve for now, right?”

“Y…es”

Vince’s frowning look was beginning to fade away as he smelt a rat in what he couldn’t place his finger on…the direction of his dad’s thought.

“Can you now say that you’re actually thirteen as at now?”

“N…o”

This time, Vince returned to his initial shell of frowning. Somehow, he knew his intelligence was being played upon. All the while, Catherine couldn’t hide the heaviness of her emotion. She poured it out in the form of tears, rolling out from her eyes but was able to prevent it from touching the floor by covering her face with her hands. Richard was unmoved, kept his calm and continued his talk with his son who wasn’t batting an eyelid to his mom’s feelings.

“Oh! Did I hear you say a ‘NO’? You must be kidding me! You told your mom you were a grown man of thirteen. Yet, you will be thirteen, come next month. I guess you can’t wait for it! Hmmm…ha haha. You’ve made me laugh! As you can see, your mom is shedding tears…don’t mind her face cover. Of course, no thanks to your rather exuberant behaviour! Honey, wipe your tears…”

Catherine courageously wiped her tears.

“Honey, remember when we agreed to tell Charles Our Story, when he clocks thirteen?”

“Yes, my dear”. Catherine’s conscious reply knew no equal. Vince was looking up to the ceiling, waiting to have the discussion done with.

“I think we have to let the cat out of the bag. His wants to be exuberant…Yes, it’s natural, you know. Let’s tell him now before he loses it and like the old saying, ‘a stitch in time saves nine’, the earlier Vince his told Our Story, the better for us all. What do you think?”

“I concur!” Catherine agreed.

“Before we begin Our Story, I’ll like to let you know a few things. Being a teenager is such a wonderful experience. It’s like a transition between boy-hood, as is your present state, to manhood. It’s where all of your physical characteristics like your height, shoulders and others begin to take proper shape. The cracking of your voice , the pubic hair in your armpit, your ‘private part’ area and others are what to be expected when you hit what scientist call ‘puberty’ or, in simple language, the  age of maturity. In addition, the feeling that you have the world under your feet-doing things your own way, relating more with the opposite sex, engaging in exuberant activities like partying, smoking and drinking would want to make the best of you. And if permitted, Vince, such a teenager will, for the rest of his or her life, suffer.

Your mom and I were once teenagers like you. We heard fun, combined with the good, bad and ugly. The consequences of our actions of our teen years have made us who we are today. Therefore, on this basis… Vince, I will let your mom begin her story…Our Story”

Catherine adjusted herself properly, looking at the hung wedding picture of her and Richard, resting on the wall. She told her story:

I was the only child of my parents. Born and raised by disciplinarians, I was given the basic needs of life all through my childhood-food, best of education, shelter, clothes and above all, love and care. They ensured nothing lacked in my life because they had me quite later…after twenty years of staying married. Throughout my childhood, I was dad’s and mom’s girl until I turned fourteen…

The ‘devil’ in me began opposing their imposed strict life on me. I thought I’d reached the age where no one can control me like a robot. Dad would send me an errand like “go get me some foodstuffs across the street” but I’d refuse. I did the same to mom. I simply took advantage of their near-old age—they couldn’t exert the vigor as they used to. ‘So the world, I thought, ‘is under my feet! Hurray!’ Hmmm…Wonders shall never end.

Because of this loophole, I became friends with Joyce who would introduce me to the underworld of prostitution at age seventeen. To me, my life was about hitting the peak of freedom. Together with other friends, we’d hump from one club to the other, getting paid heavily for our ‘service’ by clients. Because of my age, I received what I saw as ‘big money’ than my older colleagues.

My lifestyle embraced alcoholism, smoking, every-day and night clubbing and indiscriminate sex. As a result, at about age nineteen, I’d committed nothing less than five abortions! My saving grace was that I didn’t contract any sexually transmitted infection but there was a great danger ahead.

On the streets of Far, the then hub of prostitutes, Joyce and I were moving around in search of potential customers when some armed men accidentally discharged three stray bullets to her chest. She died on the spot. I thought I was dead realized I’d been hospitalized for hours. How I got to the hospital is still to this day a mystery to me.

Somehow, the news of the incidence got to the notice of my parents whom I’ve ‘abandoned’ for years. Unfortunately, they both died as a result! Rumours have it that they both died of a heart attack. But how true they are —I wouldn’t know. Each time I get to remember this, I feel hunted. After I heard they were both dead, I felt a little saddened at first. But that made me sink more in what was called hustling.

For the next seven years, I was into all kinds of men for money. I never cared what would happen to me, since I’m used to the herculean ‘job’. I’d just a certain clubhouse, dashing home when I collided with a stranger.

‘What’s wrong with you?!’ He asked, yelling at me, ‘look next time before taking a leap’

‘I’m sorry’ I apologized, taking a good look at his handsome face.

Though he was a stranger, I knew there was something special about him… I couldn’t just place my finger to it. I knew something in me was about to manifest. But I heard no idea of what it would be. As he was about leaving my presence, I said: ‘You’re good-looking and handsome. I’m Catherine and you…’

I thought he’d snub me, seeing my rather provocative dressing. To my utter surprise, he smiled. ‘I’m Richard by name!’

‘Do you mind if I asked you of your phone number?’

‘No, I don’t! This is my complimentary card. Please, have it. Call me anytime.’

He left my presence. It was then I was able to place a finger as to what made him special—It was done on me that Richard was the man for me! This was the strangest of all thoughts I’ve ever perceived in my entire life! A stranger I met the first time being my true love?  ‘That’s unimaginable!’ one would say.

 Beginning our conversation through phone, our just-built platonic friendship soon grew into a more intimate one. It was at this point I knew to turn a new leaf from my dirty old past would be in my interest. As our relationship blossomed, he thought me how to perceive life positively and see the true worth of myself.  Through determination and with his support, I became dis-engaged from smoking, drinking and indiscriminate sex. I must confess it wasn’t an easy one…there were times where he’d catch me in the act…drinking, smoking and sometimes, ‘attending’ to a client. But he never gave up on me! At last, I gave up on them; embracing what was to come along—the responsibility of marriage.

I was nineteen at the time I met Richard. We dated for five years and eventually got married.  The following year, I was blessed with a son and…that son is…YOU! We later tried making more babies but failed. The doctors we visited, including our late family doctor, Dr. Carr, told me that I won’t be able to conceive again because my womb has been seriously affected. To be frank, it was a big blow to Richard and me. But we decided to move on by loving each other.

We agreed to raise our only son, YOU, the best way possible for him to become a responsible adult. Staying out of trouble and avoiding any vices from the early toddling ages to the formative teen ages were what we agreed on. Pardon us if we’ve been strict on you…All we’ve ever wanted was your good because we love and believe in you…

I agreed with him because the way he handled family issues, after three years of staying married. Richard would strike an almost-even balance between his office work schedule and time with me, the then housewife and later us-when you came on the scene. In my view, his commitment to family matters from the home-front to handling had, till this day, been applause-worthy. Through him I realized that no matter our busy schedules are, family matters come first above everything else.

And the man I’ve truly come to love, Vince, is that man sited to your right, your father, my husband—Richard.

Vince was speechless: He was lost for words. He looked at his dad in surprise. There was no force to push out any words of appreciation. He was so tuned to the frequency of the Catherine story that visiting Oasis would be the last thing on his mind. Catherine leaned her back against the sofa and looked at Richard as he placed his right hand on Vince’s left shoulder, leaning against the sofa. Richard rolled out his story:

I was born a twin. My brother, Franklin, was my exact opposite. His sticky fingers prevented him from being a faithful son. By the way, my mom died giving birth to Franklin and me. My dad later left and placed us under the custody of our aged grandmother. The reason for his sudden he left us still remains unknown. We were barely eight months when he left us. I’ve never seen his face, even up till this day!

My aged grandmother tried raising us to the best part of morality. However, the stubborn attitude of Franklin encouraged the company of bad friends. Franklin had been unrepentantly stubborn since the age of five. She tried making him submissive but all her efforts were rendered void.

Thirteen years later, then sixteen, it was unknown to us that Franklin had joined a popular four-member robbery gang, popularly known as the Real Gang of Robbers or RGR for short. He left our Isle home, where we were born and spent our formative years, to God knew where, for about five years, until a time came…

 Details of his nefarious activities with the gang would be disclosed when the long arm of the Isle law came descending on them! After an unsuccessful robbery operation, Franklin was the only survivor after an intense gun shoot-out with men of the Isle Police Force. My look-alike was arrested and jailed for multiple murders and robbery attempts and rape. After proper investigation, the judge’s verdict read: DEATH BY FIRING SUAD.

We were told Franklin was to be executed the following day by my distant friend. My grandmother died on the spot! Somehow, I summoned the courage to follow her to where it was to happen…at the outskirt of Isle.  We moved to that area…Although scared to the bone to hear that my twin brother would be killed and knowing about his predicament so late, his ending this sad way wouldn’t be surprising to me. I expected it all along!

The next morning, at about 8:45AM, I saw Franklin and seven others tied each to individual trees and at distant, a soldier was assigned to each of them; waiting for the commander’s ‘shoot’ order. The commander was staring at us up from a three-storey building through a large transparent Louvre.  The soldier assigned to execute Franklin was mean-looking; I could hardly withstand his face. Immediately the clergy man approached each of whom I saw as ‘the condemned to death’ persons, the commander’s ‘shoot’ order saw the vibration of sounds of bullets sprayed over their bodies, including that of Franklin. That was how he ended his course on earth.

I left the execution site a sad person. I didn’t give a hoot of her consoling me. ‘Afterall, it’s medicine after death’, I thought. On my way home, I came in contact with a stranger who would become my wife…your mother. That was where our story began…

 She’s been my very backbone and the reason I’m still strong, inspite of what had happened in the past. Like the saying, ‘Iron sharpens iron’, our stories, now Our Story, we unveiled to each other slowly but steadily healed our past wounds of insecurity, doubt, fear and guilt as our love grew through the years. Just as your mother said, staying out of trouble and avoiding any vices from the toddling ages to the formative teen ages was what we agreed on- as the way to nurturing you.

Son, we love you, we believe in you and we care about you. But nurturing you in the strictest price your mother and I would have to pay to show you the ONLY PATH to a responsible adulthood. Wished there were other ways…

Grandmother told me this when I was your age: ‘Family is a showcase center of unity. It is only when there is unity a family stands. Without it, its center can’t hold and when the center can’t hold, things fall apart.’ 

I’ve been leaving the life ever since, despite my brother’s wayward behaviour to divide us as a family.

Richard stood up. “Do you still want to visit Oasis?”

“No dad”.

Vince’s remorseful look returned. He was so touched by the story that he couldn’t but help to apologize.

“Dad, mom…I’m very sorry for my unruly behaviour and what I’ve been trying to do…”

That caught Catherine’s attention.

“What have you been trying to do, my dear son?”

“Mom, Oasis was about introducing me to drug pushing in Grayville. He works with a drug dealer. He wanted to introduce me to him. That was the reason I wanted to leave the house that early…I’m sorry mom.”

Richard was shocked! “Oh my goodness! How come you didn’t tell you were so interested in drug pushing? For how long this had been without our knowing? Don’t you know it’s a criminal offence?”

“Dad, I’m sorry. I promise this won’t happen again!” Vince assured as he stood up, “I’ll always be mom’s and dad’s boy!”

“You’d better be, Vince or you won’t find it any funny at all!” Richard warned. “I will change your school and ensure that you caught off your ties with Oasis…”

Catherine stood up as well, hugging Vince and kissing him on the forehead, and then whispered to his left ear. “I believe in my son…He’s my boy and yours, honey! Can you now wash the dish and do the household chores, please?”

“Yes, mom!”

Vince left Catherine’s comfort and ran to the kitchen to wash the dishes and worked all through the morning hours to keep the house clean. Richard was still looking on, as was Catherine. But she later shared the cleaning part of the chores with him.

His attention towards family became his priority and because of what he was told by his parents. Vince chose to primarily read books, magazines and journals that were home- and family-related, especially after the demise of his mom three years ago, resulting from protracted lung cancer and other related heart complications, and near-death experience of Richard that took place late last year.

Eight years later, Vince published a 1,500-word short story piece, “Family tells a Story” in Family Matters, a home and family magazine.  A quote of the article synopsis reads: “The story stems from what my dad and mom told me as their stories, what they later saw as Our Story—to keep me away from trouble and any vices because of the love, care and affection they had for me as their only son. Over the years, what they told me as stories are now what have become a family legacy and what I’ll live to tell my children… I specially dedicate this article to them-my mom, the Late Catherine Russ and my dad, Richard Russ.”

NIGHTMARES 

On my lowly bed
As I was sleeping 
You a caress gave
To my eyes weeping 
My faith did fruit 
As you reached on.
So love did smooth 
A soul matted long.
Never have I cried
Such a muted pain.
As i did yesternight
For you left again. 


Looking Back on Life

Once upon a quantum millenium
Lived lifeforms called human.
Such perishable mechanics
Fleeting vessels of organics.
Creators, Gods that have transcended
Giving us immortality for them intended.
If this is the definition of life I'll pass.
Such ephemeral mortality could not last.
But I thank their evanescence
For my infinite existence.

--

From South-Western, Michigan, Jerry Langdon lives in Germany since the early 90's. He is an Artist and Poet. His works bathe in a darker side of emotion and fantasy. He has released five books of Poetry titled "Temperate Darkness an Behind the Twilight Veil", “Death and other cold things” “Rollercoaster Heart” and “Frosted Dreams” Jerry is also the editor and publisher of the literary magazine Raven Cage Zine poetry and prose. His poetic inspirations are derived from poets such as Edgar Allen Poe, Robert Frost and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. As well as from various Rock Bands. His apparently twisted mind, twists and intertwines fantasy with reality.

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.