Tourists

When your fingers
comb my hair-
I've a feeling of walking
on the dew-wet grasses
early in the morning.

At one point, life seems
similar to an elderly European city-
tourists come, tourists go:
I, like the old Colosseum,
tired of amusing tourists;
tired of standing lifelessly, alone;
tired of waiting to see
the world fall apart.
Should I wait more
for your retrun like the Trevi Fountain do?
How long?

The poet is a lecturer of English at North Western University, Khulna