What Lies Behind the Curtain - By Wakingspirit.com ©

‘It’s New York City…sink or swim,’ said Carlos.

‘New York City is a kid’s wading pool compared to the cities I had to survive in,’ lashed back Aleksandra with a demure smile.

Aleksandra and Carlos were in a guest room at a TV studio. Aleksandra was waiting to be interviewed.

‘Are you going to remind me of all that crap you went through in Berlin and Belgrade,’ asked Carlos.

‘Don’t you dare make light of my days in Berlin and Belgrade,’ snapped Aleksandra, ‘I'm lucky to be alive…and to be here today.’

‘I thank my lucky stars too…I love you Sugar,’ said Carlos

Aleksandra spoke perfect English with a moderate accent…it gave her a cool edge. People loved her speaking voice.

    ***********************************************************

Aleksandra Kahl left Berlin, Germany and came to New York City, USA in April, 2010.

She was 21 years old and was a poet. Her first week in NYC she met Carlos at a coffee shop. Carlos just arrived from San Diego, CA. He was an artist and 13 years older than her.

‘I’m here to bring messages to the people,’ she told him.

‘And I’m here to reinvent the way people see,’ replied Carlos.

‘We both want to transform ourselves and maybe the world a little bit as well,’ she concluded.

‘Give me one of your poems to read,’ he asked.

She pulled out her computer and called up a poem.

‘This poem I wrote  on March 30, just last month, after the two stations of the Moscow Metro were bombed within 40 minutes of each other. At least 40 people were killed, and over 100 injured.’

It read:

We Can’t Be Broken    

 

Under the rubble of our sins

it’s hard to imagine where it all begins

Who is the monster...who is to blame

for a blown up world in so much pain

How can you hurt me or anyone

Every life is precious under the sun

And there’s the Spirit

There’s the heart

There’s the love that can’t broken

It won’t be broken

We can’t be broken                     

I found a dream I long ignored

I shed my skin and asked for nothing more

Against the stars we seem so small

Measured by anger we’re nothing at all

Remember your God…know who you are

A fragile creature who bears the scar

And there’s the Spirit

There’s the heart

There’s the love that can’t broken

It won’t be broken

We can’t be broken                     

Raise your heart to the sky

Let your Spirit be your guide

Take your heed of fellow men

Try to be the best that you can

Look for hope in everyone 

don’t let your faith come undone

And there’s the Spirit

There’s the heart

There’s the love that can’t broken

It won’t be broken

We can’t be broken                     

 

‘I love it,’ said Carlos, ‘you're a visionary...you are a great poet.’

'I have a degree in social linguistics but I would like to be considered a poet,' replied Aleksandra, 'I don't know if I'd call myself a poet or not. Who I'm I to make that decision. I am being baptized by fire...my words are from the streets and my heart...I don't know how a scholar like Timothy Steele would critique my work.'

'Words that stir the heart and imagination is poetry...no critic or scholar can tell you otherwise,' said Carlos.

'I knew I liked you,' replied Aleksandra.

That first week they met it was obvious they needed to work together to survive as newbies in the city on little income. To cope with expenses they found a small studio apartment and moved in. Being older than Aleksandra, Carlos was more established as an artist and was able to sell a few paintings to some restaurants helping a little more with the rent, but they shared a soulful journey as kindred artists…they both were in NYC to make their dreams come true...mutual artistic support mattered most.  They resisted, but within weeks they were sharing more than a bed. They both promised not to fall in love with each other…within six months they were married.

  *************************************************************

Aleksandra told Carlos she was born in Staaken in the former East Germany, which is a part of Berlin. She was born on the 9th of November 1989, the same day the Berlin Wall came down.  She was an orphan. As an infant, she was abandoned at the foot of the Berlin Wall. Suzette, an 8 year old girl found her. Suzette's family took Aleksandra in as their own. We now have two beautiful children said her new parents…fate has smile on us.

In January, 1997, Oliver, her German stepfather was killed one block away from their home in Berlin. The police determined he was attacked by street thugs for his wallet. Martina, her step mother, told the kids that it was the KGB and former German secret police that killed him because he knew some of their dirty deeds and was going to expose them in a book he was writing.  Her stepmother was from Serbia and immediately uprooted the family and moved to Belgrade.  Martina reverted to using ’Radovic,’ her maiden name…she said it was for safety reasons. She was going to legally change Aleksandra’s surname, Aleksandra refused.

Tragedy struck again when her mother and sister went to the village of Gornje Obrinje in Kosovo on the 20th of September, 1998.  Even though they were ethnic Serbians they wanted to protest the way the government was mistreating the ethnic Albanians. A group of mothers from all the ethnic groups had come together to cry out for peace and common sense over the territorial disputes. Aleksandra wanted to go, but her mother did not want to pull her out of school. She stayed behind in Belgrade. Something terrible happened at the village…a massacre. That was the last time Aleksandra ever saw her mother or sister. She was 9 years old and once again an orphan.

This time there was no family willing to take in Aleksandra as one of their own. Truthfully, most of the neighbours and loose friends were angry with Aleksandra’s mother and her stand on the war.  Aleksandra was on the wrong side of the wall.

‘You have the stench of a traitor,’ one of Aleksandra’s classmates said, ‘you’re not wanted around here.’

Growing up, her parents told Aleksandra that her birth mother was a German figure skater and her father was a high up Russian official posted in Berlin. Her birth mother was pregnant and abandoned by her Russian lover. He had a wife and children back home in Moscow. With the Iron Curtain collapsing he was ordered back to Headquarters. It was too much for her to take and she left her newborn in a baby carriage wrapped in a warm blanket by the torn down wall. A note was pinned to the blanket. It said, 'please take good care of Aleksandra, her mother loves her but can't fend for her…God Bless.'

Aleksandra told her friends she researched her mysterious past. She told them that she believed her birth mother was Katrina Witt and her father was Vladimir Putin, the Russian President. Katrina Witt was the Olympic Gold medallist in Sarajevo, Yugoslavia in 1984. That same year she was voted "GDR female athlete of the year" by the readers of the East German newspaper.

Katrina would have been almost 24 years old and at the peak of her career and fame when she gave birth to Aleksandra in 1989.

Aleksandra would excitedly tell her friends that from 1985 to 1990, the KGB stationed Putin in Dresden, East Germany.  During that time, Putin was assigned to Directorate S, the illegal intelligence-gathering unit. Putin was especially keen on tracking East German celebrities.  He became obsessed with Katrina…after all she was both beautiful and the ultimate athlete.  They called her the most beautiful face of socialism. These were strong attributes that are known to attract Putin…and he spoke perfect German. Following the fall of East Germany, “Ministerium für Staatssicherheit files,” which she would say in a strong German demeanor, were found to show that the secret police had worked hard to keep Witt from defecting by giving her cars and grand accommodations, as well as permitting her to travel. They found 3,000 pages on her life from the age of eight onward, but the last year of her life behind the Berlin Wall was clearly deleted from the file.

Vladimir Putin was born on October 7th, 1952 and Katrina Witt was born on December 3rd, 1965…they were 13 years apart. This makes Putin a Libra and Katrina a Sagittarius. Libra is an Air sign and Sagittarius is a fire sign…this made for an amazing bond, Aleksandra would point out as she told the story.

Carlos believed the story and didn’t believe it depending on his mood and whether they were having a good time or fighting.  If they weren’t getting along, he would often blurt out, 'and my mom is Queen Sheba,' when she told new friends about her family history.

Carlos told Aleksandra that she should Friend Katrina on Facebook or send her an e-mail explaining this revelation…after all she never married for the longest time and never had children. 'She must wonder what happened to you,' he said.

'I'm a child of the streets,' replied Aleksandra, 'a product of the contradictions of opposed political worlds, resurrected from the ruins of the old and new worlds, and ultimately a bastard with a holy mission to bring peace and grace to the 21st Century. I know my past, and I do not need to revel in it…I was left alone twice in this life…I know I must lead this crusade as an orphan.'

   *************************************************************

Carlos and Aleksandra developed a deep seated love and a powerful bond between them. Their relationship was passionate and heated...they constantly swung between hugs and blow-ups. Their friends said the two of them were engaged in an endless dramatic and flamboyant Tango...maybe it was because they were both headstrong creative artists with fiery souls and singular agendas. As fragile and tumultuous as the relationship was, friend couldn't picture them without each other.

Aleksandra loved every canvass that Carlos touched.  She thought he was the most gifted and original artist in the world.  Your paintings take me to places in my head I didn’t know existed she told him.  You are vastly more creative than I’ll ever be she proclaimed.

With this admiration and feelings in mind, she wrote a poem dedicated to Carlos in honour of their first Christmas together…it both seized the glory of their love, mutual dependency and turmoil of their union…

Let’s Not Look for the Answers 

 

You know you are a new dimension      

You know I don’t understand you at all   

If my love is a lost expression     

Your love is an equation unsolved

 

So let’s not look for the answers        

We should just go on with our quests

Let it be said they shared their souls and their flesh

As the candle burned at both ends

 

If I am a mystery you are an abstraction          

If I searched the Universe you’d be somewhere beyond                    

I speak of poets that have been dead for centuries

While you paint a picture where no words belong

 

So let’s not look for the answers        

We should just go on with our quests

Let it be said they shared their souls and their flesh

As the candle burned at both ends

 

My feet were planted when the world was flat

You were on the edge not looking back

I reach to my pockets for the coins that I’ve earned

You stretch for the stars knowing there’s more to be learned

 

So let’s not look for the answers        

We should just go on with our quests

Let it be said they shared their souls and their flesh

As the candle burned at both ends

 

This would be her first poem to get published in a Magazine just short of one year after her arrival to NYC. 

Mid way into the year to follow, 2011, Carlos’ art became popular and a modest commercial success that was on the verge of cresting. He dealt with difficult themes of injustice, perversion and torture through surreal renderings.  He married styles and influences from Diego Rivera and Salvador Dali, but his works stood out as uniquely contemporary and original. His first painting to garner attention was a rending of four evil and ugly looking nuns in a strange and dank nursery. They were gathered around a play crib. Inside the play crib was a beautiful but fearful looking teenage school girl. One of her arms was severed at the elbow and bleeding. The four nuns were poking her with broom sticks. A man was at the doorway looking ominous. He held a book in his hand. On the rib of the book it read, ‘The Golden Rule.’

Aleksandra had marginal success that year. She won several reputable writing contests that had money prizes and published her works. These were mostly small publishing houses.

In the summer of 2012, Carlos was commissioned by the State of California to submit a mural for a special exhibition at the Los Angeles Art Show. They wanted to celebrate the renaissance of murals to Los Angeles and raise awareness of the city’s mural history and cultural art…hoping to reclaim the title as the “Mural Capital of the World.”  The organizers wanted to showcase the emerging and mid-career artists involved in avant-garde community, cultural and political art.

Carlos submitted a mural called “Stumbling on Words and Worlds.” He took a verse from a poem written by Aleksandra, it read:

We stumbled on words, we stumbled on dreams

If we found love we just wouldn’t know

Looking for fulfillment, looking for extremes

Why does everything have to be just so

It depicted a man and women having a heated argument…the women represented Mexico and the man United States…a farmhand and a rich industrialist respectively. They were in a living room, behind them was a bedroom door slightly opened with a small child peeking out. The child had a stick over his shoulder with a small bag on the end – he looked like a classic hobo.  Further, behind the child in the bedroom was the devil. The devil was reaching for the boy, but you had a sense the boy was going to escape.  The man and woman stood over two separate trap doors.  Each of them had a hand on a lever that clearly would send the other spiraling down below the surface.  The mural had a cross-section that showed a fiery Hell below with all kinds of demons depicted. Outside the living room window depicted a land of milk and honey…devoid of grownups…only kids played in the fields.

Aleksandra’s poem was written in capital letters, in tones of flaming orange and red bleeding across the man and woman.

“Stumbling on Words and Worlds” was a big success and stole the thunder at the art show. It launched Claros’ career to a new height.

Aleksandra was truly happy for his success and subsequent popularity, but this came at a price to their relationship. Carlos started travelling all over the world to show and speak about his paintings at various art galleries and art exhibitions. His art was selling and providing them with a good living. While he promoted his art, Aleksandra and Carlos spent months apart throughout the most of 2012 and the beginning of 2013.

Aleksandra’s second poem to get major attention and widely published was on the coattail of a tragic incident in her life. 

Aleksandra was involved in an organization called the Polaris Project. This organization waged a battle against sex trafficking and sex slaves.  Aleksandra saw firsthand back in Serbia how young teenage girls fell prey to the crime rings that profited off this crime.  It was Saturday, February 2nd, 2013 and she was protesting outside a hotel convention centre in New Orleans, Louisiana.  The next day, on February 3rd, the Super Bowl was being held at the Mercedes-Benz Superdome. Tens of thousands of football fans converged on New Orleans. The organized Crime Rings brought sex slaves to these events in big numbers. Most men would think these women were prostitutes and were working of their own doing. Not so.  Aleksandra and about 100 other people were outside the Hotel Centre with banners protesting and making people aware of sex trafficking at the game. It was then that a known Head of a Russian Crime Organization walked by. Roxanne spotted him. Aleksandra, Roxanne and six other women confronted him and brought the spot light on him.

'You should be locked away for good in a Siberian Prison for the evil crimes you've committed against women and children,' yelled out Aleksandra in both Russian and English.

He was severely pissed off, cracked a crude smile and pushed his way through them, calling them sluts the entire time.

'He's a kidnapper,' yelled out Roxanne to the gathering crowd. Roxanne was from Belgrade and a victim of the sex trade, she was a very good friend of Aleksandra. They came together from NYC to support the cause.

The Russian mobster slipped into the hotel and vanished out of sight.

At the end of the day Aleksandra and Roxanne were walking back to catch a streetcar when they were attacked by four masked men. Within minutes of confronting the women they had pulled out baseball bats and began brutally beating them.  A police car spotted them and raced over. The men fled and were never caught. Roxanne and Aleksandra were rushed to the hospital.  Almost every bone in their bodies were broken.  Roxanne died of her wounds two days later. Aleksandra’s spinal column and pelvis were fractured in three places.  On top of this her collar-bone and two ribs were broken, her left shoulder dislocated and her right leg fractured in eleven places. Aleksandra regained consciousness three days later and after a week was transferred to a NYC hospital. She spent three months recovering and had six surgeries to reconstruct her leg and pelvis.

Carlos came back from his travels the second he got the news about Aleksandra’s beating. He would not leave her side the entire time. He practically moved into the hospital and slept most nights on a small uncomfortable lounge chair beside her bed. In the third month he brought in her laptop and a canvass.

‘You must heal through words,’ he said, ‘I will send you energy through my painting.’

Over this month she was totally immersed in writing poems. A poem she wrote as a tribute to Roxanne was posted and circulated by a prominent publisher shortly after her release from the hospital, it read:

The Last Night (La Derniere Nuit)

 

Left my soul down in New Orleans

Where the Voodoo dolls will strip you clean

Come on down to the Mardi Gras

Comment allez vous no one knows who you are

Dance with the angels and sleep with the devils

Wash away your blues if you’re able

 

            Tonight may be your last

            Live life with all your might

            The stars don’t shine every night

            But you have to have faith

            You have to faith…to get by

 

I saw a city fall down to its knees

It's hard to keep the faith after what I’ve seen

Is there a God up above

In this world of push and shove

Tinkerbell’s retired and Superman’s gone home

You’re left in this world all alone

 

            Tonight may be your last

            Live life with all your might

            The stars don’t shine every night

            But you have to have faith

            You have to faith…to get by

 

Wheel of fortune or wheel of change

Place your bets it’s all the same

Stay at home or go to work

No one knows where evil lurks

Everyone is tired and there’s no relief

Shake your demons and face your grief

 

            Tonight may be your last

            Live life with all your might

            The stars don’t shine every night

            But you have to have faith

            You have to faith…to get by

 

Over the same time while in the hospital Carlos finished a painting that depicted the horrors of sex trafficking. It showed a young Asian girl holding a teddy bear. She had a school uniform on and stood on a pedestal.  She was surrounded by unsavory looking men and women engaged in countless debaucheries – US, Russian and other countries' paper bill currencies were flying through the air…a kind of contemporary Dante’s Inferno. Carlos donated it to the Polaris Foundation where it drew positive attention around the world.

  ***********************************************************

After Aleksandra’s release from the hospital Carlos began his business travels again to promote his art. In the late summer of 2013 he opened a studio in LA where he could paint. He said NYC was not inspiring him enough…he would split his time between his two studios.

Aleksandra became even more obsessed with social disorder and injustice. Her poems were strong and powerful with provoking observations on a world gone mad…the loss of family values and the escalating injustices between the have and have not.

‘Did you ever think that your increased focus on social disorder is your means of coping with or avoiding the chaos of your private life,’ asked Liz.  Liz was Aleksandra's agent.

‘What do you mean,’ asked Aleksandra.

‘Well, I think you gain strength by being identified with a new generation of global artists out to defuse the hate and turmoil caused by riffs between nations and the greed of power hungry leaders and thugs.’

‘Nothing is wrong with this,’ added Liz, ‘it’s admirable, but you seem to be sacrificing your personal life…even your marriage. And you and Carlos seem such opposites…I don’t understand what keeps you together especially since you're apart most of the time.’

‘Liz, Carlos and I are artists,’ replied Aleksandra, ‘Carlos has opened up doors for me that I could never open on my own…he has pushed my poetry into styles I would have never tried…

I know people have difficulty seeing a tall, blond, blue eyed, white woman with a short, stocky, dark skinned, hard edged looking Latino man – they think we’re a mismatch.

Others think Carlos is the right hand of the devil where women are concerned…his ex-wife told me he was a womanizer who considered sex synonymous with urinating…a simple bodily release.’

‘But, I can tell you this,’ Aleksandra concluded, ‘we need each other in order to maintain our mission and work in life.  All artists carry the burden of a potential destructiveness…yes we torment each other as lovers…our bond of togetherness and separation is a touchstone that both fuels our imaginations and provides the emotional space necessary for our art.’

‘I don’t care if he has affairs with other women,’ Aleksandra seemed compelled to add, ‘he will always and only love me…that’s all the devotion either of us require.’

   ***********************************************************

It was New Year Eve...2014 was around the corner. Carlos was in Los Angeles overseeing a display of his works at Dem Passwords that day and later in the evening he had a flight to Australia. Carlos' good friend Darcy took Aleksandra out for dinner back in NYC. After dinner he confessed his love to Aleksandra. Aleksandra turned him down. Darcy was both hurt and angry…that’s when he told her that Carlos was having an affair.  Carlos was having an affair with Aleksandra’s best friend Laura.  Aleksandra exploded and starting breaking every object in sight. Darcy was dumbfounded…he didn’t expect such a violent response. He went over and wrapped his arms around her chest and hoisted her in the air as she struggled to get free. She finally calmed down.

‘You suffer from three grave accidents in your life,’ Darcy said, ‘first you lost your family, second was when those Russian Gangsters beat you next to death...and the third accident is Carlos.’

‘Can’t you see,’ Darcy said passionately, ‘the marriage provided you with an older partner from whom you sought the good relationship and love that was taken away when you lost your father and mother at such a young age.’

‘All my friends are armchair psychiatrist,’ Aleksandra blurted back, ‘I’m not blind to the fact that I see a relationship with Carlos as a chance to heal my past hurts…a chance to have two good parents, plus a husband, in one person…nothing’s wrong with that.’

On New Year’s Day she confronted Laura and told her what she’d do to her if she continued the affair or told Carlos that they had this talk. Laura told her that it was not serious…and she’d end it. Aleksandra kissed her and they went out for a coffee.

Carlos came home to NYC two weeks later.  Aleksandra didn’t raise the matter of his affair. 

  ************************************************************

As January passed, Aleksandra’s attention was increasingly on the Ukraine. Leading up to the New Year there had been a citizen’s uprising that was on the verge of making positive political change. In mid-February 2014 the riots escalated and in the clash many protesters and police were being killed. On the news Aleksandra saw people being interviewed about it on the streets of NYC.  One person had tears streaming down her eyes over the deaths in the Ukraine. The newsperson asked if she had a Ukrainian background. She said no, I’m fourth generation New Yorker of Irish descent. This profound empathy deeply touched Aleksandra. That night Aleksandra prayed for peace and wrote the following poem.

World Undone

I feel the hurt when the world loses control

Every bullet or bomb delivers a blow

Though I’m thousands of miles away

I suffer the loss and live with the pain

My senses and mind just won’t let go

I watch no matter how awful the show

Somehow I’m ashamed and feel to blame

It kills me inside, I’m so afraid

 

I have no firsthand knowledge of those who fall

Yet I feel diminished with each life as death calls

You say I should learn to buffer my thoughts

But I feel like it’s my family who suffers the shots

Not a minute goes by where I’m free of this burden

How can I pretend not to see what's behind the curtain

 

Civilization is a beast that terrorizes me

You say I can’t see the forest for the trees

It’s not like you have a hand in what's been done

So stop looking down the barrel of that gun

For others it’s as easy as a change of jeans

But when I close my eyes I hear the screams

 

Aleksandra posted the poem on her own Website and it drew a lot of attention.

In late February the corrupt President was ousted. In March the situation worsened. Russia painted a picture of social unrest in Ukraine and was intent on annexing Crimea…to save the pro-Russian population. On March 16th, the illegal referendum, in the eyes of Western countries, resulted in a decisive ‘yes’ vote amongst the Russian ethnic population for  Crimea to join Russia. This paved the path for pro-Russian troops to mobilize further and take a stronger hold over the territory.

It was March 19th, three days after the referendum, Aleksandra and Carlos were watching CNN with Laura. Their friends Franz and Paul showed up and joined them at the TV. Franz was an 80 years old German man.  Aleksandra saw him playing guitar at a jazz bar. She was blown away with his music and befriended him immediately. He had been trapped in East Germany after the war and came to NYC in 1993. Paul was 27 years old. He owned a popular coffee shop that Aleksandra and Carlos frequented. The café hung and sold the art of upcoming artists and local poets did recitals there.

‘I just can’t believe all the political rhetoric,’ exclaimed Aleksandra.

‘Well, that’s your dad causing all this unrest,’ replied Carlos.

‘If I was Stalin’s secret love child,’ said Franz, ‘I wouldn’t want to confirm it...let alone advertise it.’

‘But, don’t you want to solve the mystery,’ asked Carlos, ‘don’t you want to know for sure if Witt and Putin are your parents?’

‘People are overly obsessed with having to know all the facts on things,’ replied Aleksandra, ‘look at the massive media coverage of that crazy search for the missing Malaysian passenger jet…everyone wants the truth or else they can't have closure…despite the fact we know the jet crashed and is at the bottom of the ocean…they should grieve and move on…instead they are wasting time looking for answers…how does that serve them…it doesn’t.’

‘I’ve moved beyond the source of my conception,’ concluded Aleksandra, ‘digging up my past from the ocean floor is irrelevant.’

‘I love your attitude,’ Paul cut in, ‘you stand out as a person and poet who tears open your chest and heart to reveal the biological truth of your feelings… You are an oasis in a sea of madness…you defy definition…you are a superior poet and the greatest proof of the renaissance of art in the 21st century.’

‘And Paul must want Aleksandra to do another recital as his café,’ said Carlos with a chuckle.

‘No, I was being sincere,’ replied Paul, ‘it’s just that I try in my way to help promote worthy causes…like I support the local food bank and I’m a member of Amnesty International…and sometimes I don't know what cause to support or if a war or uprising in some foreign land should concern me.'

'Hey Bro,' said Carlos, 'don't feel guilty. You do the best you can. You're a good entrepreneur...you make good coin without exploiting or hurting anyone...and you do more for local charities than most people. And if you can't help out directly you provide moral and financial support to people fighting the cause...what more can you do?'

'But, I feel that I’ve overly bought into a life of luxury and do these charities to relieve my guilt…I go once a month and help at the Soup Kitchen then I drive home in my BMW and I’m back at my boutique sipping an espresso…whereas Aleksandra is a revolutionary…a constant champion of justice…she is a true warrior of virtue.’

‘Thank you Paul,’ replied Aleksandra, ‘I do my best.’

Their attention went back to the news on TV. NATO and American troops were deploying to take part in an exercise in Poland.

'Games without frontiers...wars without tears, my mom would say,' said Aleksandra.

'All these leaders are baboons,' blurted out Carlos, 'thumping their chests and trying to out bully each other on the world stage...their lust for power and fanatical zeal is taking us all to Hell in a handbasket.'

‘The dogs of war are unleashed...look at Barack Obama and the European Leaders rattling their sabres,’ commented Franz, ‘they have no intentions of providing any meaningful help to the Ukrainians – sanctions won’t do anything…their hands are tied...all bark...no bite.’

‘I remember two years after they completed the Berlin Wall,’ Franz said, as he scratched his head, ‘what was the date…June 1963, the U.S. President John F. Kennedy visited West-Berlin. Speaking from a platform erected on the steps of Rathaus Schöneberg in front of a half million Germans he declared “Ich bin ein Berliner.” “I am Berliner.” He said, “All free men, wherever they may live, are citizens of Berlin, and therefore, as a free man, I take pride in the words “Ich bin ein Berliner!”’

‘Kennedy told us that there are many people in the world who really don't understand, or say they don't, what is the great issue between the free world and the Communist world. Let them come to Berlin he said. He invited all free men to come to Berlin and witness the injustice of the Communist system, where citizens are imprisoned. He added that American Democracy had it flaws, but it does not curtailed liberty and justice. We knew he was damning the Soviets and we appreciated his words as a morale booster, but we went on to live under the tyranny of the Russians for another 17 years.’

'I don't give a damn if they call it democracy or the free world,' Laura cut in, 'there's always going to be elite in every society out for themselves...as long as the elite let us have our say and we can take a strip of their hide without being prosecuted or punished...and if the everyday people can sometimes win out over an interest of the elite...there is hope for a few angels in our midst to pull us out of the lost and found and move us toward being a graceful and giving society.'

‘I remember that 16 months before the wall came down I saw Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band...they were angels of mercy. They played a live concert in East-Berlin in front of 300,000 people. It was broadcast on television. Springsteen spoke to the crowd in German, saying: "I'm not here for or against any government. I've come to play rock 'n' roll for you in the hope that one day all the barriers will be torn down".

‘I guess the battle call of today is “Я киянка”’ he sighed, ‘my Ukrainian is rusty, but translated that means “I am a Kievan.”’

‘On second thought…Bruce Springsteen and U2 should play a concert in Kiev…I think they’d have more impact than the politicians,’  said Franz, slumping back into his sofa chair, ‘your generation needs to use the power of the Internet and Social Media to put these leaders in their place.’

  *************************************************************

The woes in Ukraine were still escalating with no peaceful resolve on the horizon. The world was on the brink of a new cold war…and everyone was speculating on how intense it would get.

The night that Franz and Paul were over watching the news with them provoked Aleksandra to write a poem. It was about the unrest over the Ukraine and the overall escalating conflicts around the world.

Carlos read it.

‘Wow…this is amazing,’ exclaimed Claros, ‘it would be a great protest song.’

Carlos was so impressed with the poem he showed it to his friend Elisha. She was an up and coming singer/musician…he suggested it would be a great song for her band…plus it was a message for the times. Elisha loved it and went to the studio with her band members. They knew that timing was critical so they wasted no time putting it to music and recorded it right away. Afterwards they produced a video for the song. The video showed the band playing the song standing in front of old decaying brick wall with clips of the protests in the Ukraine and pro-Russian troops occupying the Crimea as well as clips from other conflicts around the world…every now and then one of Carlos’s paintings popped up…the video closed with a portrait of Aleksandra…her face was expressionless except for one large tear. It was posted on YouTube on March 24th…within four days more than sixty million people viewed it.

  ************************************************************

It was March 30th 2014…the evening of the new moon.

Aleksandra was excited. She was in the guest room waiting to go out on the Late Night Show with Jimmy Kimmel. A stagehand told her it was time to go out.

‘Tonight we have Aleksandra Kahl,' announced Jimmy Kimmel, 'Aleksandra is an important poet of our times…her words stir your heart and mind…her recent poem turned into a song has gone viral on You-Tube and may even change the course of world events as it is sending a massive tidal wave…a Sonoma of good will out among the people…a message of peace.’

Aleksandra stepped out from behind the stage. The audience gave Aleksandra a loud standing ovation as she walked over to meet Jimmy.

‘Welcome to the show,’ said Jimmy Kimmel, ‘from the audience’s response we can see you really touched the world with your song…your words.’

‘That was my intent,’ replied Aleksandra, ‘I’m just so happy and lucky that my good friend Elisha and her band took up the cause and made my words soar in a musical landscape…and of course this wouldn’t have gotten off the ground if it weren’t for the inspiration and effort of my husband Carlos.’

‘How do you come up with the ideas for your poems,’ asked Jimmy.

‘My words paint self-portraits because I am so often alone...and because I am the subject I know best,’ replied Aleksandra, ‘I think they have meaning to others because most of my short life I have been a martyr of transcending pain…I have been swallowed up by a ruthless world…yet I see beauty and hope.’

'Your words really express anger and hope for the world...what do you think of civilization,' asked Jimmy.

'It's a great idea,' replied Aleksandra.

The crowd exploded with laughter.

‘Great stuff...you're up on your Gandhi,’ said Jimmy, clearly enjoying the interview and visibly amused.

'How do you want people to see you,’ he asked.

‘I only wish I could become an icon of peace for my generation… for others to admire or pity,’ replied Aleksandra.

‘I heard a rumour,’ Jimmy said teasingly, ‘I heard that you are an orphan from East Germany born the day the Berlin Wall fell…and that Vladimir Putin may be your father…furthermore, Katrina Witt may be your mother.’

‘As a baby abandoned by both my parents the possibilities that underlie my origins are endless,’ replied Alexandra, ‘maybe someday I’ll know the truth, but until that time my imagination paints many pictures of my past…as a result I’m not tethered to any roots…I’m a child of the world and to a limitlessness of fortune.’

‘Well said,’ replied Jimmy, ‘Aleksandra is only 25 years old, but I can see she is an old soul…now we are going to play her song.’

The video came on the screen…and more people in the world heard Aleksandra’s plea for global peace…

Love Will Light up Our Lives (What Lies behind the Curtain)

You remember the winter I was carved down to the bone

 I was ranting about global destruction from my BMW thrown

You said “make a difference, do something graceful and giving”

And I took up the cause but tripped up on my own cost of living

I’m the spoiled screwed up kid of the Silver Chrome Empire

I’ve been sucked up by the neon images coming across the wire

My fingers dance across the keyboard crying out for love and peace

A thousand e-messages pleading for this world madness to cease

I schedule in acts of goodwill like an anal type A organizational freak

Any other time you can catch me partying at Paul’s Boutique

 

And what are we waiting for and why can’t we just get it right

It’s here and its now and it’s love that will light up our lives

It’s here and its now and it’s love that will light up our lives

 

Remember how defunct I’d get over the relentless attacks

A world bullied by angry alpha primates with monkeys on their backs

Is there no other way to run this world, but down to the ground

So few angels left like you to pull us out of the lost and found

Hell bound for glory, Western Generals rekindle the old crusade

In the name of the Holy One, Rebel Leaders unsheathe the blade

Every last one of them claiming a sole franchise on what’s right

They have abandoned the way of family as inspiration for insight

The Invisible Hand of the Divine points out clearly who is the Ass

In air-conditioned stupor we ponder the escalating price of gas

 

And what are we waiting for and why can’t we just get it right

It’s here and its now and it’s love that will light up our lives

It’s here and its now and it’s love that will light up our lives

 

All the bad blood racing through the veins of a tainted mind

A young pliable person ill-informed or spoon-fed lies to keep blind

Smug elders gagging on power or on dreams of long dead sages

The same old Humankind stumbling as it did in the Dark Ages

Crucifixions live on the Internet sent out across the Broadband

The New Age way of burning down villages and raping all of the land

It’s the same old question and I ask myself “is this my war to wage”…

“Is this my war to wage…"

I can’t help but feel wrath and wish to strike them all down in rage

Lost between three square meals a day and the void of doing right

I find it hard to close my eyes and push all this madness out of sight

 

And what are we waiting for and why can’t we just get it right

It’s here and it’s now and it’s love that will light up our lives

It’s here and it’s now and it’s love that will light up our lives

Many in the crowd were crying during the performance. At the end they gave it a standing ovation.

Aleksandra broke into a modest smile and put her hand on her heart and she cried.