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6th kirugu.

In her cow-pen, in her sheepfold the woman utters bitter words: "The city has been destroyed by the storm."

Its jicgijal.

Mother Ningal, like an enemy, stands outside her city. The woman laments bitterly over her devastated house. Over her devastated shrine Urim, the princess bitterly declares: "An has indeed cursed my city, my city has been destroyed before me. Enlil has indeed transformed my house, it has been smitten by pickaxes. On my ones coming from the south he hurled fire. Alas, my city has indeed been destroyed before me. On my ones coming from the highlands Enlil hurled flames. Outside the city, the outer city was destroyed before me -- I shall cry "Alas, my city". Inside the city, the inner city was destroyed before me -- I shall cry "Alas, my city". My houses of the outer city were destroyed -- I shall cry "Alas, my houses". My houses of the inner city were destroyed -- I shall cry "Alas, my houses".

My city no longer multiplies for me like good ewes, its good shepherd is gone. Urim no longer multiplies for me like good ewes, its shepherd boy is gone. My bull no longer crouches in its cow-pen, its herdsman is gone. My sheep no longer crouch in their fold, their herdsman is gone. In the river of my city dust has gathered, and the holes of foxes have been dug there. In its midst no flowing water is carried, its tax-collector is gone. In the fields of my city there is no grain, their farmer is gone. My fields, like fields from which the hoe has been kept away (?), have grown tangled (?) weeds. My orchards and gardens that produced abundant syrup and wine have grown mountain thornbushes. My plain that used to be covered in its luxurious verdure has become cracked (?) like a kiln.

My possessions, like a flock of rooks rising up, have risen in flight -- I shall cry "O my possessions". He who came from the south has carried my possessions off to the south -- I shall cry "O my possessions". He who came from the highlands has carried my possessions off to the highlands -- I shall cry "O my possessions". My silver, gems and lapis lazuli have been scattered about -- I shall cry "O my possessions". The swamp has swallowed my treasures -- I shall cry "O my possessions". Men ignorant of silver have filled their hands with my silver. Men ignorant of gems have fastened my gems around their necks. My small birds and fowl have flown away -- I shall say "Alas, my city". My slave-girls and children have been carried off by boat -- I shall say "Alas, my city". Woe is me, my slave-girls bear strange emblems in a strange city. My young men mourn in a desert they do not know.

Woe is me, my city which no longer exists -- I am not its queen. Nanna, Urim which no longer exists -- I am not its owner. I am the good woman whose house has been made into ruins, whose city has been destroyed, in place of whose city a strange city has been built. I am Ningal whose city has been made into ruins, whose house has been destroyed, in place of whose house a strange house has been built.

Woe is me, the city has been destroyed, my house too has been destroyed. Nanna, the shrine Urim has been destroyed, its people killed. Woe is me, where can I sit, where can I stand? Woe is me, in place of my city a strange house is being erected. I am the good woman in place of whose house a strange city is being built. Upon its removal from its place, from the plain, I shall say "Alas, my people". Upon my city's removal from Urim, I shall say "Alas, my house"."

The woman tears at her hair as if it were rushes. She beats the holy ub drum at her chest, she cries "Alas, my city". Her eyes well with tears, she weeps bitterly: "Woe is me, my city which no longer exists -- I am not its queen. Nanna, the shrine Urim which no longer exists -- I am not its owner. Woe is me, I am one whose cow-pen has been torn down, I am one whose cows have been scattered. I am Ningal on whose ewes the weapon has fallen, as in the case of an unworthy herdsman. Woe is me, I have been exiled from the city, I can find no rest. I am Ningal, I have been exiled from the house, I can find no dwelling place. I am sitting as if a stranger with head high in a strange city. Debt-slaves ...... bitterness .......

I am one who, sitting in a debtors prison among its inmates, can make no extravagant claims. In that place I approached him for the sake of his city -- I weep bitterly. I approached the lord for the sake of his house -- I weep bitterly. I approached him for the sake of his destroyed house -- I weep bitterly. I approached him for the sake of his destroyed city -- I weep bitterly. Woe is me, I shall say "Fate of my city, bitter is the fate of my city". I the queen shall say "O my destroyed house, bitter is the fate of my house". O my brick-built Urim which has been flooded, which has been washed away, O my good house, my city which has been reduced to ruin mounds, in the debris of your destroyed righteous house, I shall lie down alongside you. Like a fallen bull, I will never rise up from your wall (?).

Woe is me, untrustworthy was your building, and bitter your destruction. I am the woman at whose shrine Urim the food offerings have been terminated. O my Agrun-kug, the all-new house whose charms never sated me, O my city no longer regarded as having been built -- devastated for what reason? O my house both destroyed and devastated -- devastated for what reason? Nobody at all escaped the force of the storm ordered in hate. O my house of Suen in Urim, bitter was its destruction."