Job 3

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

«لَيْتَهُ بَادَ الْيَوْمُ الَّذِي وُلِدْتُ فِيهِ، وَفَنِيَ اللَّيْلُ الَّذِي قِيلَ فِيهِ: قَدْ حُبِلَ بِطِفْلٍ ذَكَرٍ.

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

لِيَتَحَوَّلْ ذَلِكَ الْيَوْمُ إِلَى ظَلامٍ. لَا يَرْعَاهُ اللهُ مِنْ فَوْقُ، وَلا يُشْرِقُ عَلَيْهِ نَهَارٌ.

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

لِيَسْتَوْلِ عَلَيْهِ الظَّلامُ وَظِلُّ الْمَوْتِ. لِيَكْتَنِفْهُ سَحَابٌ وَلْتُرَوِّعْهُ ظُلُمَاتُ النَّهَارِ.

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.

أَمَّا ذَلِكَ اللَّيْلُ فَلْيَعْتَقِلْهُ الدُّجَى الْمُتَكَاثِفُ، وَلا يَبْتَهِجْ مَعَ سَائِرِ أَيَّامِ السَّنَةِ، وَلا يُحْصَ فِي عَدَدِ الشُّهُورِ.

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

لِيَكُنْ ذَلِكَ اللَّيْلُ عَاقِراً، لَا يَتَرَدَّدُ فِيهِ هُتَافٌ.

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

لِيَلْعَنْهُ السَّحَرَةُ الْحَاذِقُونَ فِي إِيْقَاظِ التِّنِّينِ!

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

لِتُظْلِمْ كَوَاكِبُ شَفَقِهِ، وَلْيَرْتَقِبِ النُّورَ مِنْ غَيْرِ طَائِلٍ، وَلا يَرَ هُدُبَ الْفَجْرِ،

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

لأَنَّهُ لَمْ يُغْلِقْ رَحِمَ أُمِّي وَلَمْ يَسْتُرِ الشَّقَاءَ عَنْ عَيْنَيَّ.

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

لِمَ لَمْ أَمُتْ فِي الرَّحِمِ، وَلِمَ لَمْ أُسْلِمِ الرُّوحَ عِنْدَمَا خَرَجْتُ مِنْ بَطْنِ أُمِّي؟

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

لِمَاذَا وَجَدْتُ الرُّكَبَ لِتُعِينَنَي وَالثُّدِيَّ لِتُرْضِعَنِي؟

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

وَإلَّا لَظَلَلْتُ مُضْطَجِعاً سَاكِناً، وَلَكُنْتُ نَائِماً مُسْتَرِيحاً

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

مَعَ مُلُوكِ الأَرْضِ وَمُشِيرِيهَا، الَّذِينَ بَنَوْا أَهْرَاماً لأَنْفُسِهِمْ.

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

أَوْ مَعَ الرُّؤَسَاءِ الَّذِينَ كَنَزُوا ذَهَباً وَمَلأُوا بُيُوتَهُمْ فِضَّةً.

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

أَوْ لِمَاذَا لَمْ أُطْمَرْ فِي الأَرْضِ كَسِقْطٍ لَمْ يَرَ النُّورَ؟

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

فَهُنَاكَ يَكُفُّ الأَشْرَارُ عَنْ إِثَارَةِ الْمَتَاعِبِ، وَهُنَاكَ يَرْتَاحُ الْمُرْهَقُونَ.

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

هُنَاكَ يَطْمَئِنُّ الأَسْرَى جَمِيعاً، إِذْ لَا يُلاحِقُهُمْ صَوْتُ الْمُسَخِّرِ.

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

هُنَاكَ يَكُونُ الصَّغِيرُ كَالْكَبِيرِ، وَالْعَبْدُ مُتَحَرِّراً مِنْ سَيِّدِهِ.

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

لِمَ يُوْهَبُ الشَّقِيُّ نُوراً، وَذَوُو النُّفُوسِ الْمُرَّةِ حَيَاةً؟

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

الَّذِينَ يَتُوقُونَ إِلَى الْمَوْتِ فَلا يُقْبِلُ، وَيَنْقُبُونَ عَنْهُ أَكْثَرَ مِمَّا يَنْقُبُونَ عَنِ الْكُنُوزِ الْخَفِيَّةِ،

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

الَّذِينَ يَنْتَشُونَ غِبْطَةً، وَيَسْتَبْشِرُونَ حِينَ يَعْثُرُونَ عَلَى ضَرِيحٍ!

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

بَلْ لِمَاذَا يُوْهَبُ نُورٌ وَحَيَاةٌ لِرَجُلٍ ضَلَّتْ بِهِ طَرِيقُهُ، وَسَدَّ اللهُ حَوْلَهُ؟

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

اسْتَبْدَلْتُ طَعَامِي بِالأَنِينِ، وَزَفْرَتِي تَنْسَكِبُ كَالْمِيَاهِ،

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

لأَنَّهُ قَدْ حَلَّ بِي مَا كُنْتُ أَخْشَاهُ، وَأَصَابَنِي مَا كُنْتُ أَرْتَعِبُ مِنْهُ.

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