"Prana" by Alexey Adonin
To Cast a Dream by Wale Ayinla
After Vanessa Angelica Villareal
How feeble were your feet in the face of death
that they would want to slip through it? A requiem
in a cathedral at the throat of the river. The sky pales
like a bowl of ogi. You have always brought me
here –the riverbank, your eyes opening the door
to a whole new world. Each time, I listened to you
and covet your dreams. I pretended that the story was
always new. I heard how a voice called me
from the silt in your bones where hope decomposed.
Was it grief or the wind’s warning
of your impending doom?
On the fortnight of your journey, the stars poured
from your nostrils. You made the tree sway
to the rhythm of your laughter. My skin welcomed
the leaves of its echoes. The ash of the wind
sprinkled over my face. My heart closed its fist,
sorrowing in the interlude of despair.
You fingered your face out of memory:
the milk-moon’s tender fluorescent lit your body.
You held my hand and sang to me
with stones in your throat. You spoke
of your departure for greener pastures, but the earth
thought of grasses. To plant the remains of your dream
where death’s hand would not reach.
How feeble were your feet in the face of death
that they would want to slip through it? A requiem
in a cathedral at the throat of the river. The sky pales
like a bowl of ogi. You have always brought me
here –the riverbank, your eyes opening the door
to a whole new world. Each time, I listened to you
and covet your dreams. I pretended that the story was
always new. I heard how a voice called me
from the silt in your bones where hope decomposed.
Was it grief or the wind’s warning
of your impending doom?
On the fortnight of your journey, the stars poured
from your nostrils. You made the tree sway
to the rhythm of your laughter. My skin welcomed
the leaves of its echoes. The ash of the wind
sprinkled over my face. My heart closed its fist,
sorrowing in the interlude of despair.
You fingered your face out of memory:
the milk-moon’s tender fluorescent lit your body.
You held my hand and sang to me
with stones in your throat. You spoke
of your departure for greener pastures, but the earth
thought of grasses. To plant the remains of your dream
where death’s hand would not reach.
Wale Ayinla is a Nigerian poet, essayist, and editor. His works recently appeared or are forthcoming on Guernica, South Dakota Review, The LitQuarterly, Cimarron Review, Slipstream, Ruminate Magazine, McNeese Review, Waccamaw, Poet Lore, Palette Poetry, and elsewhere. He is a staff reader for Adroit Journal. A Best of the Net and Best New Poets Award nominee, & in 2019, he was a finalist for numerous prizes which include the Brittle Paper Award for Poetry, and his manuscript, Sea Blues on Water Meridian was a finalist for the inaugural CAAPP Book Prize.
Alexey Adonin is a Jerusalem based abstract-surrealist artist. His works have been showcased locally and internationally and are held in private collections around the world. Alexey uses a unique and beautiful technique in which he layers oil paints solely on top of one another to create a mystical, transparent look. His philosophy stems from the idea that one's reality is made up of what they believe it to be. Alexey uses his art as a platform to express his profound ideas about reality, humanity, and their intertwined behaviors. You can view more at www.alexeyadoninart.com.
