سالها فکر من این است و همه شب سخنم
که چرا غافل از احوال دل خویشتنم
---
از کجا آمده ام آمدنم بهر چه بود
به کجا می روم آخر، ننمایی وطنم؟
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خیام
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For years my thought is this and all night my speech Why am I unaware of the state of my heart?
Where did I come from, what was my coming for? Where am I going, finally, you don’t show me my homeland?
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Khayam
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He woke up in a strange room, with no memory of who he was or where he came from. He looked around and saw a window, a door, a bed, and a table. On the table, there was a book, a pen, and a paper. He picked up the book and opened it. It was a collection of poems by Omar Khayyam, a Persian poet he had never heard of. He read the first poem:

For years my thought is this and all night my speech
Why am I unaware of the state of my heart?
---
Where did I come from, what was my coming for?
Where am I going, finally, you don't show me my homeland?

He felt a surge of emotion, as if the words resonated with his own situation. He wondered if he was in some kind of experiment, or a dream, or a nightmare. He decided to write his own poem, hoping to find some answers. He took the pen and wrote on the paper:

I don't know my name, my past, or my future
I'm trapped in a room, with no clue or no suture
---
Is this a test, a game, or a punishment?
Who are you, the one who controls my movement?

He finished writing and put the paper next to the book. He hoped that someone would read it and respond. He waited for a long time, but nothing happened. He felt hopeless and frustrated. He decided to try the door, maybe it was unlocked. He got up and walked towards the door. He reached for the handle, but before he could touch it, he heard a voice.

"You are lost from the time you lost forgot who you are and became no one."