O my companion, who afflicted me and afflicted him,
 which I do not describe, just as I do not know how to describe myself,
 Let's try the slope from top to bottom,
 After squandering dozens of years as we ascend,
 And here we are, panting.
 We have the certainty away from the abyss...
 Publicly on the way back we realize ourselves,
 We do what others cannot and hate to do;
 We descend to the bottom where no one else wants an experience like this.
 where we are curled up as we were before the beginnings,
 Before thinking of peaks and cliffs,
 Rather, by escaping from our wombs while we are screaming...
 You know that experiments are a naive idea in the beginning,
 Its importance is the beginning...
 I'll start from the top.
 across the sheer cliff to the bottom of the bastards,
 Take my hand and don't leave me alone
 Beware of the first step before you take the second step.
 she is the killer,
 He who does not warn the first does not understand its end.
 I am all I care about in life.
 is what will kill me:
 Perception of the end.
 O my consort, the distant mountain spirit consort,
 Desert comrade and Violet,
 O consort of Bahrain and the salty coasts,
 How long does he hold attention at the end?
 Wasn't it the very time when he noticed the cautious beginning?
 I would say I don't know, I don't know till I arrive,
 We're both down the slope that never ends,
 We adjust the balance of the opposite existence.

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The sculpture in the photo that acompanies the poem is Amir Khatib's creation.