They must come for you at night
For deceit detests the light
That exposes the day
And makes motives
No longer politic grey
But dreadful darkest black.
Some say the families
Could hear the shots
Fired at eight of them,
Tortured and tired
And tied to a plank
With eyes wide open.
A churlish end
To a malicious plan
Of cheap deceptions
And sordid trickery.
So the police smiled
Because it went well.
Today a weak man will wake
In the propped-up palace.
He will drink again
From the callous challis,
Frothy with foul poison
Distilled from corruption
That defines his frailty.
Has he not heard,
Does he not know
The words of his prophet?
Life for life,
Wounds equal for equal,
Mercy for men
Who show mercy.
One night they might come for him.
The painting is by Myuran Sukumaran, one of eight men executed in Indonesia this morning.
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