May that day perish when I was born

May that day perish when I was born,
and also the night of my conception.
May that day be dark
and ignored by God.
May no light shine upon it.
May the shadow of death claim it as its own.
May a cloud settle over it;
may blackness obstruct its light.
That day — oh, let it be gloomy;
among the days of the year, may it not occur;
may it be unaccounted for.

That night — oh, let it be barren,
untouched by shouts of joy.
Let it be cursed by those who hate the light,
sorcerers who call on the Devil.
Let its morning stars no longer shine;
let it wait for light in vain
and never see the first rays of dawn,
since it did not close from the womb
to keep my eyes from seeing doom.

Why didn't I die at birth,
or come from the womb without breath?
Why the knees that received me,
why the breasts that suckled me?
For then I should have laid down
asleep and be at rest
with kings and rulers of the earth
who built for themselves lonely tombs;
or with princes who had gold to spare
and houses stuffed with silver.
Why was I not stillborn,
like others who did not see the light of morn?

There the trouble of the wicked ceases,
there the weary find repose.
There the prisoners are at ease;
they no longer hear the taskmaster's voice.
Great and small fare equally there,
where the slave is free from his master.

Why is light given to the miserable,
and life to the embittered?
To those who long for death more than hidden treasure?
They rejoice upon reaching the grave.
Why give light to a man whose path is hidden
and whose way God blocks at every side?
Instead of breath I feed on sighs.
My groans are like water poured out.
For what I fear has come upon me,
what I dread has befallen me.
I find no rest, I find no ease;
only turmoil, nothing of peace.