Yet I curse the day I was born! May no one celebrate the day of my birth.I curse the messenger who told my father,“ Good news— you have a son!”Let him be destroyed like the cities of old that the Lord overthrew without mercy. Terrify him all day long with battle shouts,because he did not kill me at birth. Oh, that I had died in my mother’s womb, that her body had been my grave!Why was I ever born? My entire life has been filled with trouble, sorrow, and shame.
Curse that day for failing to shut my mother’s womb, for letting me be born to see all this trouble.“ Why wasn’t I born dead? Why didn’t I die as I came from the womb?
For the Son of Man must die, as the Scriptures declared long ago. But how terrible it will be for the one who betrays him. It would be far better for that man if he had never been born!”
Then I said,“ What sorrow is mine, my mother. Oh, that I had died at birth! I am hated everywhere I go. I am neither a lender who threatens to foreclose nor a borrower who refuses to pay— yet they all curse me.”