Nostalgia imigrantului

I'm a candle burnt out at the feast.
Gather my wax up at dawn,
And this page will tell you the secret
Of how to weep and where to be proud,
How to distribute the final third
Of delight, and make an easy death,
Then, sheltered by some chance roof
To blaze, word-like, with posthumous light.

versuri de Arseniy Tarkovsky

traducere aproximativa Cosimo

Nostalghia (r. Andrei Tarkovsky, 1983)