'You who leave your first hearth,
Do you know that it burns with
fiery nostalgia?'

On the boulevard I stop for a moment in silence
In front of my old apartment building.
There is light in the windows
Where someone else now lives happily.

Greetings, brother, I say to myself,
Looking in the window from afar,
From the trees along the pavement a leaf
Falls onto the collar of my jacket.

So many years I lived there in peace and in excitement,
Where the lights are shining in the windows tonight.
I wrote many poems and articles,
Got married and raised children.

How many sleepless nights I spent
Pondering over my notes and books,
And entertaining friends who arrived at the door,
Entertaining them leisurely and hospitably.

And my friends - wise, noisy, audacious,
Read whatever I had written
With pleasure or turning up their noses,
Saying, 'We expect real verse!'

And who knows how often with them
I took to the roads of Albania!
To hell with the kitchen, cups and saucers and spoons,
Let us look for verse together on our way!

And again with books and notes
I returned to that small apartment,
With my trousers full of burrs,
And juniper needles in my hair...

On the boulevard I stop and light a cigarette
In front of my old apartment building.
The glow in the windows burns with a first nostalgia
That can never be transferred elsewhere.