There is always a word that is evident from the depths of the eye, from those bitter words that are as beautiful as Foroughs poetry, from those words that have been forbidden to our ears for a lifetime, from those frank words like a poem by Shamloo,
from those words that we are afraid of, from those words that should be said, from that pain of the good heart, from those very bad words, and I do not say hidden truths from those words that I know from those words. You know that
under the roof of this house, I am a guest like you , I know like you, I will not stay in this house, there are always words that are from pain in the chest, like the cry of a generation that is full of love, full of resentment,
full of unsaid things that we thought someone else would not be able to bear all our words and say that he says . . . The last words are always full of unspoken words , we are always in a state of chaos, the world is always chaotic,
under the roof of this house, I am a guest like you, I am a guest like you, I know like you, I do
not stay in this house, I do not stay under the roof of this house, I am a guest like you, I know like you, I will not stay in this house.