Let the day of my birth be erased and the night I was conceived. Let that day be turned to darkness. Let it be lost even to God on high, and let no light shine on it. Let the darkness and utter gloom claim that day for its own. Let a black cloud overshadow it, and let darkness terrify it. Let that night be blotted off the calendar never to be counted among the days of the year, never again to appear among the months. Let that night be childless. Let it have no joy. Let those who are experts at cursing- whose cursing could rouse Leviathan, curse that day. Let its morning stars remain dark. Let it hope for light, but in vain; may it never see the morning light. Curse that day for failing to shut my mother's womb, for letting me be born to see all this trouble (and to cause all this trouble). Why wasn't I born dead? Why didn't I die as I came from the womb? Why was I laid on my mother's lap? Why did she nurse me at her breasts? Had I died at birth, I would now be at peace. I would be asleep and at rest. I would rest with the world's kings and ministers,
whose great buildings now lie in ruins. I would rest with princes rich in gold whose palaces were filled with silver. Why wasn't I buried like a stillborn child, like a baby who never lives to see the light? For in death the wicked cause no trouble and the weary are at rest. Even the captives are at ease in death, with no guards to curse them. Rich and poor are both there and the slave is free from his master. Oh, why give light to those in misery, and life to those who are bitter? They long for death, and it won't come. They search more eagerly for death than hidden treasure.
They are filled with joy when they finally die, and rejoice when they find the grave. Why is life given to those with no future Those God has surrounded with difficuloties? I cannot eat for sighing; my groans poor out like water. What I have always feared has happened to me. What I dreaded has come true. I have no peace, no quietness. I have no rest, only trouble comes.