A BADGE OF HONOUR
The ink upon my index finger, a dirty stain
Say some, why don’t you make it clean again?
Not me, I wish I could wear it with pride forever,
For it’s a badge of honour, this ink-stained finger!
It represents the expression of my sacred vote,
My constitutional responsibility, no casual sport.
It is the right to cast down, the right to replace
Those who have tried hard my island to deface.
The ink is on fingers that have toiled hard and long
Fought for survival, with no time for mirth or song,
For we could not sing the Lord’s song in a strange land,
With economic and spiritual battles on every hand.
The ink is on fingers that pressed to lips, that voices hushed
As characters were tarnished, and spirits were crushed
The fingers that feared to write and the wrongs expose
While life plans were deferred, and new hardships arose.
The ink is on fingers that yearned to free this land,
Which endured such darkness without vision or plan,
The ink we gladly endured and did not complain,
Like bitter medicine that would cure all the pain.
The ink is on fingers that wiped tears from our eyes
And on those fingers that pointed up to the skies
That pointed to God and asked “Lord how long, how long?”
That turned to the Scriptures with His answer, “Be strong!”
The ink boasts our right to elect a new government,
That will be honest, fair, caring and competent,
That will govern with dignity, respect and honour
With accountability, and without fear or favour.
It will be that same power to change should they fail,
A reminder that they too can be swept out wholesale,
For my vote represents a truly awesome power,
And the ink proves I cast it, for our island’s future.
So I will wear the ink on my finger as long as I can,
No Clorox nor soap, no scrubbing of my right hand.
The ink on my finger is a true badge of honour,
The ink on my finger has helped to redeem Anguilla!
– Contributed
