Job 3

“May the day of my birth perish,
    and the night that said, ‘A boy is conceived!’

Kan no, na yɛn ankasa yɛyɛ nkwaseafo, asoɔdenfo, ne abɔnefo. Na yɛyɛ akɔnnɔ ne anigye horow nkoa. Yɛsɛee yɛn abrabɔ wɔ bɔne ne anibere ho. Afoforo tan yɛn maa yɛn nso yɛtan wɔn.

That day—may it turn to darkness;
    may God above not care about it;
    may no light shine on it.

Nanso bere a yɛn Agyenkwa Onyankopɔn ayamye ne ne dɔ daa adi no,

May gloom and utter darkness claim it once more;
    may a cloud settle over it;
    may blackness overwhelm it.

ogyee yɛn nkwa. Ɛnyɛ nnwuma pa bi a yɛayɛ nti, na mmom, ɔnam n’ahummɔbɔ mu ahohoro yɛn ho, agye yɛn nkwa, ama Honhom Kronkron no awo yɛn foforo ama yɛn nkwa foforo.

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.

Onyankopɔn nam Yesu Kristo a ɔyɛ yɛn Agyenkwa no so ahwie Honhom Kronkron no agu yɛn so

May that night be barren;
    may no shout of joy be heard in it.

sɛnea ɛbɛyɛ a’ n’adom nti, ɔbɛka yɛn ne Onyankopɔn abom na ɛnam so ma yɛanya nkwa a enni awiei a yɛn ani da so no.

May those who curse days^[a] curse that day,
    those who are ready to rouse Leviathan.

Eyi yɛ nokwasɛm. Mepɛ sɛ wuti saa asɛm yi mu yiye na ama wɔn a wogye Onyankopɔn di no ahu sɛ, ɛsɛ sɛ wɔde wɔn bere di dwuma pa. Eyinom nyinaa ye na ɛho wɔ mfaso ma nnipa.

May its morning stars become dark;
    may it wait for daylight in vain
    and not see the first rays of dawn,

Nanso munnnye nkwasea akyinnye. Saa ara nso na monnto ana, nkasakasa, nko wɔ mmara so. Ɛho nni mfaso biara.

for it did not shut the doors of the womb on me
    to hide trouble from my eyes.

Obi a ɔde mpaepaemu ba no, bɔ no kɔkɔ na ɛno akyi tew wo ho fi ne ho.

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

Ɛsɛ sɛ wuhu sɛ obi a ɔte saa no asɛe, na bɔne a ɔyɛ no da adi wɔ ne ho.

Why were there knees to receive me
    and breasts that I might be nursed?

Sɛ mesoma Artema anaa Tihiko wo nkyɛn a, bɔ mmɔden bra me nkyɛn wɔ Nikopoli, na ɛhɔ na mabɔ me tirim sɛ mɛtena awɔw bere no.

For now I would be lying down in peace;
    I would be asleep and at rest

Bɔ mmɔden gya ɔmmaranimfo Sena ne Apolo kwan yiye na anhia wɔn hwee.

with kings and rulers of the earth,
    who built for themselves places now lying in ruins,

Ma yɛn nkurɔfo no nsua sɛnea wɔde wɔn adagyew yɛ nnwuma pa de boa. Ɛnsɛ sɛ wɔtena ase kwa.

with princes who had gold,
    who filled their houses with silver.

Wɔn a wɔne me wɔ ha nyinaa kyiakyia wo. Kyia wɔn a wɔdɔ yɛn wɔ gyidi mu ma yɛn. Adom nka mo nyinaa.

Or why was I not hidden away in the ground like a stillborn child,
    like an infant who never saw the light of day?

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

Captives also enjoy their ease;
    they no longer hear the slave driver’s shout.

The small and the great are there,
    and the slaves are freed from their owners.

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

to those who long for death that does not come,
    who search for it more than for hidden treasure,

who are filled with gladness
    and rejoice when they reach the grave?

Why is life given to a man
    whose way is hidden,
    whom God has hedged in?

For sighing has become my daily food;
    my groans pour out like water.

What I feared has come upon me;
    what I dreaded has happened to me.

I have no peace, no quietness;
    I have no rest, but only turmoil.”