How I would love this evening,When the wind blows, and plays its games.When beneath the lantern of a moon,It flings the leaves across a hill...
I wanted to say, I have a longing,For the walnut tree, and the cherry.For a cloud that glides above the mountain,And washes my house with rain...
How desolate a man can be,He goes into the world, takes to roaming.Then he sits and talks to the clouds,About an alleyway, about his childhood...
He goes to the village, looks toward London,He goes to London, longs for the village.His ears ring like a hundred drums,His dreams measure out his longing in steps..
Every time he leaves, every time he returns,He drinks the river Vjosë in longing, without a glass.He gets deeply drunk on memories and dreams,Then turns the drunken Vjosë into tears...
But he cannot wash away his longing out in the world
