Observations placeholder

7th kirugu.

Alas, my city, alas, my house."

Its jicgijal.

O queen, how is your heart ......! How you have become! O Ningal, how is your heart ......! How you have become! O good woman whose city has been destroyed, now how do you exist? O Ningal whose Land has perished, how is your heart ......! After your city has been destroyed, now how do you exist? After your house has been destroyed, how is your heart ......! Your city has become a strange city, now how do you exist? Your house has turned to tears, how is your heart ......! You are not a bird of your city which has been reduced to ruin mounds. You cannot live there as a resident in your good house given over to the pickaxe. You cannot act as queen of a people led off to slaughter.

Your tears have become strange tears, your Land no longer weeps. With no lamentation prayers, it dwells in foreign lands. Your Land like ....... Your city has been made into ruins; now how do you exist? Your house has been laid bare, how is your heart ......! Urim, the shrine, is haunted by the breezes, now how do you exist?

Its gudu priest no longer walks in his wig, how is your heart ......! Its en priest no longer lives in the jipar, now how do you exist? The uzga priest who cherishes purification rites makes no purification rites for you. Father Nanna, your icib priest does not make perfect holy supplications to you. Your lumah priest does not dress in linen in your holy giguna shrine. Your righteous en priest chosen in your ardent heart, he of the E-kic-nu-jal, does not proceed joyously from the shrine to the jipar. The aua priests do not celebrate the festivals in your house of festivals. They do not play for you the cem and ala instruments which gladden the heart, nor the tigi. The black-headed people do not bathe during your festivals. Like ...... mourning has been decreed for them; their appearance has indeed changed.

Your song has been turned into weeping before you -- how long will this last? Your tigi music has been turned into lamentation before you -- how long will this last? Your bull is not brought into its pen, its fat is not prepared for you. Your sheep does not live in its fold, its milk is not made abundant for you. Your fat carrier does not come to you from the cow-pen -- how long will this last? Your milk carrier does not come to you from the sheepfold -- how long will this last? An evildoer has seized your fisherman who was carrying fish -- how long will this last? Lightning carried off your fowler who was carrying birds -- how long will this last? The teme plants grow in the middle of your watercourses which were once suitable for barges, and mountain thornbushes grow on your roads which had been constructed for wagons.

My queen, your city weeps before you as its mother. Urim, like a child lost in a street, seeks a place before you. Your house, like a man who has lost everything, stretches out (?) its hands to you. Your brick-built righteous house, like a human being, cries "Where are you?". My queen, you have indeed left the house, you have left the city. How long will you stand aside from your city like an enemy? Mother Ningal, you confronted your city like an enemy. Although you are a queen who loves her city, you abandoned your sheepfold. Although you are one who cares for her Land, you set it on fire.

Mother Ningal, return like a bull to your cattle-pen, like a sheep to your fold, like a bull to your cattle-pen of former days, like a sheep to your fold. My queen, like a young child to your room, return to your house. May An, king of the gods, declare "Enough!" to you. May Enlil, king of all the lands, decree your fate. May he restore your city for you -- exercise its queenship! May he restore Nibru for you -- exercise its queenship! May he restore Urim for you -- exercise its queenship! May he restore Isin for you -- exercise its queenship!