The Cursing Teardrops

My imprecations are hidden inside my eyes,
They are covered by the teardrops I constantly liberate,
And a greater fright behind my meager look,
I'm always rueful for the decline of my mother.

She is ever out crying to me,
"Scrub the floor its squalid,
Wash the walls they are shabby"
I scrub and clean the entire mansion.
They stride on the floor with turbid tracks and scream,
"This phase is untouched!"
I revert in mortification with a drop of tear from my eye,
"My backbone broke on it"
But I'm compelled to relinquish the calls and take another swipe.

A summon resonation is installed in my cube,
It's made to rouse me to vigilance before the dayspring's intrusion.
I'm ever the early bird from the bed,
To array the morning meal as they still dream,
To refine their shoes as they visit the tub,
And straighten their apparels as they break their fast.
My presence at the table is a white man's intrusion.

A gravely say-so pierces through the latch,
"Run to the cuisine and prepare coffee,
Wash the plates as it process."
A teardrop falls from my eye as I speed to the kitchen.
Another subdual voice cracks through the wall,
"Refill the tanks and keep them replete."
A drop falls as it lands on my ear.

The smokefall greets my back on the slammer,
My boundaries are bound within the area,
Any call on in my favor is a delinquency.
Day by day, my frail body continues to wither,
And a repeated query pushing its way through my head,
Why this cruelty?