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May the day of my birth perish, and the night it was said;


"A girl is born!"

That day-may it turn to darkness, may God above not care about it, may no light shine upon it.

May darkness and deep shadow claim it once more, may a cloud settle over it, and may blackness overwhelm its light.

That night-may thick darkness seize it, may it not be included among the days of the year, nor be entered in any of the months.


May that night be barren, may its morning stars become dark, may it wait for daylight in vain, and not see the first rays of dawn.

Why did I not perish at birth, and die as I came from the womb?


Why were there no knees to receive me? Nor breasts that I might be nursed?


For now, I would be lying down in peace.

Why was I not hidden in the ground, like a stillborn child, like a fetus  without fight?


There, the wicked cease from turmoil, and the weary are at rest.


Captives enjoy their ease.  

The small and the great are there. And the slave is freed from her master.


Why is light given to those in misery, and life to the bitter of the soul?


To those that long for death that does not come. I am here, breathing with you.

For sighing comes to me, instead of food.

My groans pour out like water. And what I feared has come upon me, what I dreaded, is here. 

I have no peace, no quietness, I have only turmoil.

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