Mohammed Hussain, an Afghan asylum seeker rejected by Australia under the Howard government was tortured and beheaded by kidnappers in a province south of Kabul. This poem was inspired by his fate.

How was your morning coffee Johnnny
when you saw the morning rag.
A man who cried for help
closed his eyes and now is dead.

From a place you can’t pronounce,
at the bottom of a well.
His life was hard enough,
but you made it into a hell.

In a mountain and no one else,
the Poet dreamt of greener fields,
but your heart turned to stone
a pen stroke and his fate was sealed.

How was your morning coffee Johnny
when you read it in the news
that a man who fled from terror
lost his life at your refuse.

It really doesn’t matter now.
You chose the life of leisure,
but those who live or die
they still do it at your pleasure.

But Hussain must live on
as a blight on your soul.
He can’t feel a thing no more,
his body turned charcoal.

Your legacy lives on.