The Lament for the Destruction of Sumer and Ur is a Sumerian city lament (ETCSL c.2.2.3) composed in the aftermath of the fall of the Third Dynasty of Ur to Elamite and Amorite forces, c. 2004 BCE. Where the companion Lament for Ur mourns the destruction of a single city through the voice of the abandoned goddess Ningal, this text takes the entire land of Sumer as its subject — a panorama of divine abandonment stretching from city to city, temple to temple, shepherd to shepherd, until the whole of civilization is swept away. The historical anchor is precise: Ibbi-Suen, the last king of Ur III, is named among the captives led in chains to Elam, and the fates of cities from Ur to Nippur to Eridu are catalogued in exhaustive grief. Yet the poem frames this catastrophe not as foreign conquest but as divine decree — An, Enlil, Enki, and Ninhursaja themselves voted to destroy Sumer, and the storm is merely their instrument.
The composition is structured in multiple kirugu sections (liturgical stanzas) with brief antiphons between them, marking it as a balag-lament — a genre performed with the balag drum in temple liturgy by the gala-priest. Its literary technique is one of accumulated negation: the catalogue of intended destructions in the opening divine decree gives way to confirmation after confirmation that every decree has been fulfilled. Unlike the Lament for Ur, which centers grief in a single divine voice, this text distributes mourning across the land itself — every city weeps, every god abandons their shrine, every shepherd is led away in chains, until the sum of all Sumer's losses becomes almost impossible to hold.
The translation below follows the composite text established by the Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature (ETCSL, Oxford), with reference to the edition and commentary of Thorkild Jacobsen. Section divisions follow the kirugu structure of the original. Lacunae are marked where the text is damaged.
I. The Divine Decree
To overturn the appointed times, to obliterate the divine plans —
the storm gathers to strike like a flood.
An, Enlil, Enki, and Ninhursaja
have decided its fate —
to overturn the divine powers of Sumer,
to lock away the favourable reign within its own house,
to destroy the city, to destroy the house,
to destroy the cattle-pen, to level the sheepfold;
so that the cattle would not stand in their pen,
so that the sheep would not multiply in their fold,
so that the watercourses would carry brackish water,
so that weeds would grow in the fertile fields,
so that mourning-plants would grow in the open country —
so that a mother would not seek out her child,
so that a father would not say: O my dear wife —
so that a young wife would feel no joy in her husband's embrace,
so that a young child would not grow strong upon his knee,
so that the wet-nurse would sing no lullabies —
to shift the seat of kingship,
to defile the seeking of oracles,
to take kingship away from the Land,
to let the eye of the storm fall on every country,
to obliterate the divine plans by command of An and Enlil —
After An had frowned upon all the lands,
after Enlil had looked with favour upon an enemy land,
after Nintud had scattered the creatures she had made,
after Enki had turned the Tigris and the Euphrates from their courses,
after Utu had cast his curse upon road and highway —
so as to obliterate the divine powers of Sumer,
to alter its preordained design,
to strip away the sacred powers of Urim's kingship,
to humiliate the noble prince in his E-kish-nu-gal,
to shatter the unity of Nanna's people, numerous as ewes,
to change the sacred offerings of Urim, the shrine of great offerings —
so that its people would no longer dwell in their quarters
but live in a hostile land,
so that Shimashki and Elam, the enemy, would dwell in their place,
so that its shepherd in his own palace would be captured by the enemy,
so that Ibbi-Suen would be led to the land of Elam in chains —
from Mount Zabu at the edge of the sea
to the border of Anshan,
he would fly like a swallow from its nest
and never return to his city —
so that on both banks of the Tigris and Euphrates bad weeds would grow,
so that no one would travel the road,
so that no one would seek the highway,
so that city and settlement would be razed to ruin-mounds,
so that the countless black-headed people would be slaughtered,
so that the hoe would not break the fertile field,
so that seed would not be planted in the ground,
so that the song of the herdsman would not ring out in the open country,
so that butter and cheese would not be made in the cattle-pen,
so that dung would not be heaped upon the ground,
so that the shepherd would not fence the sacred sheepfold,
so that the song of the churning-vat would not sound in the fold —
to thin the beasts of the open country, to finish all living things,
so that the four-footed creatures of Shakkan would no longer dung the ground,
so that the marshes would crack and bear no new seed,
so that sickly reeds would grow in the reed-beds
and be swallowed by a stinking swamp,
so that no new growth would rise in the orchards
but all fall of itself —
in order to quickly subdue Urim like a roped ox,
to press its neck to the ground:
the great charging bull, sure of its own strength,
the primeval city of lordship and kingship,
built on sacred ground.
Its fate cannot be changed. Who can overturn it?
It is the command of An and Enlil. Who can oppose it?
II. The Gods Abandon the Land
An frightened the very dwellings of Sumer —
the people shook.
Enlil blew an evil wind;
silence fell upon the city.
Nintud locked the storehouses of the Land.
Enki stopped the waters of Tigris and Euphrates.
Utu took away equity and justice.
Inana gave victory in war to a rebellious land.
Ninjirsu poured Sumer out like milk before dogs.
Turmoil descended upon the Land —
something no one had ever known,
something unseen, something without a name,
something that could not be fathomed.
The lands were confused with fear.
The city's god turned away.
Its shepherd vanished.
The people, afraid, could scarcely breathe.
The storm fixed them in place;
the storm would not let them return.
There was no return.
The captivity did not lift.
What did Enlil, shepherd of the black-headed people, do?
To destroy the loyal households,
to cut down the loyal men,
to turn the evil eye upon the sons of loyal men, upon the firstborn —
Enlil sent Gutium down from the mountains.
Their coming was the flood of Enlil, unstoppable.
The great wind of the open country filled the countryside
and moved before them.
The wide open country was destroyed.
No one moved there.
III. The Storm
The dark time was scorched by hailstones and flame.
The bright time was wiped out by shadow.
On that day, heaven rumbled, earth trembled.
The storm worked without respite.
Heaven was darkened — a shadow closed over it.
The mountains roared.
Utu lay down at the horizon;
dust moved over the mountains.
Nanna stood at the zenith;
the people were afraid.
The city stepped outside itself.
The foreigners in the city drove away even its dead.
Great trees were uprooted; the forest was ripped out.
The orchards were stripped of their fruit,
cleansed of their offshoots.
The crop drowned while still on the stalk.
The yield of grain fell away.
They piled corpses in heaps like sheaves.
Bodies floated in the Euphrates.
Brigands prowled the roads.
The father turned from his wife without saying: O my wife.
The mother turned from her child without saying: O my child.
He who had a productive estate walked away from it without saying: O my estate.
The rich man took an unfamiliar path from his possessions.
In those days the kingship of the Land was defiled.
The crown and tiara were ruined.
The lands that had walked together split into discord.
The sacred offerings of Urim were changed for the worse.
Nanna traded away his people, numerous as ewes.
Its king sat immobile in the palace — alone.
Ibbi-Suen sat in anguish in the palace — alone.
In E-namtila, his place of delight, he wept bitterly.
The devastating flood was levelling everything.
Like a great storm it roared over the earth —
who could escape it? —
to destroy the city, to destroy the house,
so that traitors would lie atop loyal men
and the blood of traitors would flow upon loyal men.
1st Kirugu:
The storms gather to strike like a flood.
(Jicgijal)
IV. The Lamentation Cycle
The house of Kish, Hursaj-kalama, was destroyed.
Zababa took an unfamiliar path from his beloved dwelling.
Mother Bau wept bitterly in her E-Iri-kug:
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
Kazallu, city of teeming multitudes, was thrown into confusion.
Numushda took an unfamiliar path from his beloved dwelling.
His wife Namrat, the beautiful lady, wept bitterly.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
Its river ran dry — no water flowed.
Like a river cursed by Enki its channel was blocked.
Fine grain no longer grew in the fields;
the people had nothing to eat.
The orchards burned like an oven;
its open country was scattered.
The four-footed wild animals did not run.
The creatures of Shakkan found no rest.
Lugal-Marda stepped outside his city.
Ninzuana took an unfamiliar path from her beloved dwelling.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
Isin, the shrine that was no quay, was torn by rushing water.
Nininsina, mother of the Land, wept bitter tears.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
Enlil struck Dur-an-ki with a mace.
Enlil wept in his city, the shrine Nippur.
Mother Ninlil, lady of the Ki-ur, wept bitter tears.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
Kesh, built alone on the high open country, was haunted.
Adab, the city stretched along the river, was treated as a rebellious land.
The snake of the mountains made his lair there.
The Gutians bred there; they issued their seed.
Nintud wept bitter tears over her creatures.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
In Zabalam the sacred Giguna was haunted.
Inana abandoned Uruk and went to enemy territory.
In the Eana the enemy set eyes on the sacred Jipar.
The sacred Jipar of en-priesthood was defiled.
Its en priest was seized from the Jipar
and carried off to enemy territory.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
A violent storm blew over Umma, brickwork in the highlands.
Cara took an unfamiliar path from the E-mah, his beloved dwelling.
Ninmul cried bitter tears over her destroyed city:
O my city, whose delights can no longer satisfy me.
Girsu, city of heroes, was struck by lightning.
Ninjirsu took an unfamiliar path from the E-ninnu.
Mother Bau wept bitter tears in her E-Iri-kug.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
On that day the word of Enlil was an attacking storm.
Who could fathom it?
The word of Enlil was destruction on the right,
destruction on the left.
What did Enlil do in order to decide the fate of humankind?
Enlil brought down the Elamites, the enemy, from the highlands.
Nanshe, the noble daughter, was settled outside her city.
Fire came to Ninmarki in the shrine Gu-aba.
Large boats carried off its silver and lapis lazuli.
The lady, sacred Ninmarki, grieved for her perished goods.
And then the queen also reached the end of her time.
Bau, as though she were human, also reached the end of her time:
Woe is me —
Enlil has handed the city to the storm.
He has handed it to the storm that destroys cities.
He has handed it to the storm that destroys houses.
Dumuzid-abzu was full of fear in the house of Kinirsha.
Kinirsha, the city of her noble youth, was ordered pillaged.
The city of Nanshe, Nigin, was given to foreigners.
Sirara, her beloved dwelling, was handed over to evil ones.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
Its sacred Jipar of en-priesthood was defiled.
Its en priest was seized from the Jipar
and carried off to enemy territory.
Mighty force was set against the banks of the Id-nuna-Nanna canal.
The settlements of the E-danna of Nanna,
like well-built cattle-pens, were destroyed.
Their refugees were chased like stampeding goats by dogs.
They destroyed Gaesh like milk poured to dogs
and shattered its finely wrought statues.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
Its sacred Jipar of en-priesthood was defiled.
Its en priest was seized from the Jipar
and carried off to enemy territory.
A lament was raised at the dais reaching to heaven.
Its heavenly throne was not set up, not fit for crowning.
It was cut down like a date palm and bound.
Ashur, the city stretched along the river, was deprived of water.
At the place of Nanna where evil had never walked,
the enemy walked.
How was the house treated thus?
The E-puhruma was emptied.
Ki-abrig, once filled with countless cows and calves,
was destroyed like a mighty pen.
Ningubalag took an unfamiliar path from the Ja-bur.
Niniagar wept bitter tears alone.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
Its sacred Jipar was defiled.
Its en priest was seized from the Jipar
and carried off to enemy territory.
Ninazu set his weapon in a corner in the E-gida.
An evil storm swept over Ninhursaja in the E-nutura.
Like a pigeon she flew from the window
and stood apart in the open country.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
In Jishbanda, the house filled with lamentation,
mourning reeds grew.
Ninjishzida took an unfamiliar path from Jishbanda.
Azimua, the queen of the city, wept bitter tears.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
On that day the storm forced the people into darkness.
To destroy Kuara, it drove the people into darkness.
Ninehama wept bitter tears in her fear.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
Asarluhi threw on his robes in haste.
Lugalbanda took an unfamiliar path from his beloved dwelling.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
Eridug, floating on the great waters, was deprived of drinking water.
In its outer reaches, turned to haunted plains,
the waters ran away unseen.
I, a young man the storm has not destroyed —
we have been struck down like beautiful boxwood trees.
We have been struck down like statues being cast in moulds.
The Gutians, the vandals, are wiping us out.
We turned to father Enki in the abzu of Eridug.
What can we say? What more can we add?
We have been driven from Eridug.
We who were keepers of the day are eclipsed by shadow.
We who were keepers of the night are swept away by storm.
How shall we receive among our weary ones
the one who kept the day?
How shall we let the one who kept the night
go astray among our sleepless?
Enki — your city is cursed,
given to an enemy land.
Why do they reckon us among the displaced from Eridug?
Why do they destroy us like palm trees —
us who were never violent?
Why do they break us up
like a new boat that has not yet been tried?
After Enki had cast his eyes on a foreign land,
he took an unfamiliar path from Eridug.
Damgalnuna, the mother of the E-mah, wept bitter tears.
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
Its sacred Jipar was defiled.
Its en priest was seized from the Jipar
and carried off to enemy territory.
In Urim no one went to fetch food; no one went to fetch water.
Those who went to fetch food
went away from the food and did not return.
Those who went to fetch water
went away from the water and did not return.
To the south, the Elamites stepped in, slaughtering.
In the uplands, the enemy vandals swept through.
The Tidnum strapped the mace to their loins each day.
The Elamites to the south came like an onrushing wave.
In the uplands they blew like chaff in the wind.
Urim, like a great charging bull, bowed its neck to the ground.
What did Enlil, who decides the fates, then do?
Again he sent the Elamites, the enemy, down from the mountains.
In order to destroy Kisiga —
ten men, even five men came —
three days and three nights did not pass
before the city was raked by a hoe.
Dumuzi left Kisiga like a prisoner of war,
his hands fettered.
She rode away from her possessions;
she went to the mountains.
She sang out a lament over those brightly lit mountains:
I am a queen —
I must ride away from my possessions
and now I shall be a slave in those lands.
I must ride away from my silver and lapis lazuli
and now I shall be a slave in those lands.
There, slavery — Elam covers it —
who can bear it?
Alas, the destroyed city — my destroyed house.
My queen — though no enemy —
went to enemy land.
2nd Kirugu
(Jicgijal — gap in text)
V. The Siege and the Famine
Enlil threw open the gate of the grand entrance to the wind.
In Urim no one went to fetch food; no one went to fetch water.
The people rushed about like water poured from a well.
Their strength ebbed away; they could not go on their way.
Enlil afflicted the city with an evil famine.
He afflicted it with that which destroys cities,
with that which destroys houses,
with that which weapons cannot stop,
with dissatisfaction and treachery.
In Urim, which had become like a solitary reed,
there was not even fear left.
Its people, like fish seized in a pond, tried to escape.
Its young and its old lay scattered;
no one could rise.
At the royal station there was no food upon the platform.
The king who once ate marvellous food
grabbed at a mere ration.
As day darkened and the sun grew dim,
the people knew hunger.
There was no beer in the beer-hall;
no malt remained for it.
There was no food in his palace —
it was no fit place to live.
Grain did not fill the lofty storehouse;
he could not save his life.
The grain-piles and granaries of Nanna held no grain.
The evening meal in the gods' great dining hall was defiled.
Wine and syrup ceased to flow in the great hall.
The butcher's knife that once slew cattle and sheep
lay hungry in the grass.
The mighty oven no longer cooked;
no longer breathed the smoke of roasting meat.
The sounds of the sacred bursaj building were silenced.
The house that once bellowed like a bull fell quiet.
Its holy deliveries ceased.
The mortar, pestle, and grinding stone lay idle;
no one bent over them.
The Shining Quay of Nanna silted up.
The sound of water at the prow ceased; there was no rejoicing.
Dust piled in the unuribanda of Nanna.
The rushes grew; the mourning-reeds grew.
Boats and barges ceased coming to the Shining Quay.
Nothing moved on your waterway fit for barges.
The plans of the festivals were altered.
The boat of first-fruit offerings no longer came.
The offerings could not be brought to Enlil at Nippur.
The waterway was empty; barges could not sail.
There were no paths on either bank; long grass grew there.
The reed fence of Nanna's well-stocked cattle-pen was split open.
The reed huts were overrun; their walls breached.
The cows and their young were taken to enemy territory.
The munzer-fed cows took an unfamiliar path
through open country they did not know.
Gayau, who loves cows, dropped his weapon in the dung.
Suni-dug, who stores butter and cheese, stored nothing.
Those unfamiliar with butter churned the butter.
Those unfamiliar with milk curdled the milk.
The sound of the churning-vat no longer rang in the pen.
Like a mighty fire once burning —
its smoke is extinguished.
VI. Suen's Prayer
Suen wept to his father Enlil:
O father who begot me —
why have you turned away from my city
that was built for you?
O Enlil, why have you turned away from my Urim
that was built for you?
The boat of first-fruit offerings
no longer brings offerings to him who begot it.
Your offerings can no longer reach Enlil at Nippur.
The en priests of countryside and city
have been carried off by phantoms.
Urim, like a city raked by a hoe,
is to be counted among ruin-mounds.
The Ki-ur, Enlil's resting-place, has become a haunted shrine.
O Enlil — look upon your city, an empty wasteland.
Look upon your city Nippur, an empty wasteland.
The dogs of Urim no longer sniff the base of the city wall.
The man who once drilled great wells
scratches the ground in the market square.
O father who begot me —
hold my city in your embrace, the city that stands alone.
Enlil, return your Urim to your embrace, the city that stands alone.
Hold the E-kish-nu-gal in your embrace, the house that stands alone.
May you bring forth offspring in Urim;
may you multiply its people.
May you restore the divine powers of Sumer
that have been forgotten.
3rd Kirugu:
O good house! O good house! O its people! O its people!
(Jicgijal)
VII. Enlil Answers
Enlil answered his son Suen:
There is lamentation in the haunted city;
mourning-reeds grow there.
In its midst the people pass their days in sighing.
O Nanna, my noble son —
why do you busy yourself with weeping?
The judgment the assembly has uttered cannot be reversed.
The word of An and Enlil knows no overturning.
Urim was given kingship —
it was not given an eternal reign.
From the first day the Land was founded,
from the time people multiplied —
who has ever seen a reign that would take precedence forever?
Its kingship had been long.
Now it must exhaust itself.
O my Nanna — do not strive in vain.
Abandon your city.
Then my king, the noble son, was overcome.
Lord Asimbabbar, the noble son, grieved.
Nanna, who loves his city, left his city.
Suen took an unfamiliar path from his beloved Urim.
To go as an exile from her city to foreign land,
Ningal quickly dressed herself and left.
The Anuna gods stepped outside of Urim.
Urim's trees were sick; its reeds were sick.
Lamentation sounded all along the city wall.
Daily there was slaughter before it.
Large axes were sharpened in front of Urim.
Spears and battle-arms were readied.
The great bows, the javelins, the shields
gathered together to strike.
The barbed arrows covered its outer wall
like a raining cloud.
Large stones fell with great thuds, one after another.
Urim, sure of its own strength, stood ready for the killers.
Its people, oppressed by the enemy,
could not withstand their weapons.
VIII. The Fall
In the city, those not cut down by weapons
succumbed to hunger.
Hunger filled the city like water; it would not stop.
This hunger twisted people's faces,
contorted their muscles.
Its people were like those drowning in a pond —
they gasped for air.
Its king breathed heavily in his palace — alone.
Its people dropped their weapons;
their weapons struck the ground.
They struck their necks with their own hands and wept.
They sought counsel with each other;
they looked for answers:
What can we say about this?
What more can we add?
How long until this catastrophe finishes us?
Inside Urim there is death.
Outside Urim there is death.
Inside: we are finished by famine.
Outside: we are finished by Elamite weapons.
In Urim the enemy crushes us.
O — we are finished.
The people took refuge behind the city walls.
They huddled together in fear.
The palace, wrecked by rushing water, was defiled;
its doorbolts were torn out.
Elam, like a flood wave rising,
left behind only ghosts.
In Urim people were smashed like clay pots.
The refugees could not flee;
they were trapped inside the walls.
Its mighty cows with shining horns were captured;
their horns cut off.
Its unblemished oxen and grass-fed sheep were slaughtered.
The palm trees, strong as copper, the heroic strength —
torn out like rushes, plucked like rushes,
their trunks toppled sideways.
Their tops lay in the dust; no one lifted them.
Their fronds were stripped; their tops burned.
Their date-spadices were torn from the well.
The fertile reeds in the sacred place were defiled.
The great tribute they had gathered
was hauled into the mountains.
The house's great door-ornament fell;
its parapet was destroyed.
The wild animals intertwined on left and right
lay before it like heroes slain by heroes.
Its dragon-mouths and awe-inspiring lions
were pulled down with ropes like roped bulls
and carried to enemy territory.
The fragrance of the sacred seat of Nanna,
once like a fragrant cedar grove, was destroyed.
The glory of the house whose glory was once so lovely
was extinguished.
Like a storm filling all the lands
it had been built there like twilight in the heavens —
its doors adorned with the stars of heaven.
Great bronze latches were torn out.
Its hinges broken.
Together with its fittings
the door wept bitterly like a fugitive.
The bolt, the holy lock, the great door —
none were fastened.
The sound of fastening had ceased.
There was no one to fasten them.
The royal food offerings were altered.
In its sacred place the tigi, shem, and ala drums did not sound.
Its mighty tigi did not play its sacred song.
No verdicts were given at the Dublamah, the place of oaths.
The throne was not set up at its place of judgment;
justice was not done.
Alamush threw down his sceptre; his hands trembled.
In the sacred bedchamber of Nanna
musicians no longer played the balaj drum.
The sacred box that no one had ever seen
was seen by the enemy.
The divine bed was not spread; it was not laid with clean hay.
The statues in the treasury were cut down.
The cook, the dream-interpreter, and the seal-keeper
performed no ceremonies.
They stood by submissively
and were carried off by the foreigners.
The holy usga priests, the linen-clad priests,
forsook the divine powers and sacred plans
and fled to a foreign city.
IX. The Restoration
In his grief Suen approached his father.
He went down on his knee before Enlil, who begot him:
O father who begot me —
how long will the enemy eye be cast against my account?
The lordship and kingship you bestowed —
O father Enlil, who advises with just words,
whose words guide the Land —
look into your darkened heart,
terrifying like waves.
O father Enlil,
the fate you have decreed cannot be explained.
He put on a garment of mourning.
Enlil then gave a favourable answer to his son Suen:
My son, the city built for you in joy and prosperity
was given to you as your reign.
The destroyed city, the great wall, the walls with broken battlements —
all this too is part of that reign.
The dark days that have been your lot —
as for dwelling in the E-temen-ni-guru,
properly built for you —
indeed, Urim shall be rebuilt in splendour.
The people shall bow down to you.
Let there be abundance at its base; let there be grain.
Let there be splendour at its top;
let the sun rejoice there.
May an abundance of grain embrace its table.
May Urim — the city whose fate was pronounced by An —
be restored to you.
Having spoken his blessing,
Enlil raised his head toward heaven:
May the Land, south and highland, be set in order for Nanna.
May the roads of the mountains be opened for Suen.
Like a cloud hugging the earth
they shall submit to him.
By command of An and Enlil it shall be given.
Father Nanna stood in his city of Urim
with his head raised high.
The young Suen could enter the E-kish-nu-gal again.
Ningal refreshed herself in her sacred dwelling.
4th Kirugu:
There is lamentation in the haunted city;
mourning-reeds grow there.
In its midst there is lamentation;
mourning-reeds grow there.
Its people pass their days in moaning.
(Jicgijal)
X. The Closing Prayer
O bitter storm — retreat, O storm.
Return home, storm.
O storm that destroys cities — retreat, O storm.
Return home, storm.
O storm that destroys houses — retreat, O storm.
Return home, storm.
Indeed the storm that blew on Sumer
blew on the foreign lands.
The storm that blew on the Land
blew on the foreign lands.
It has blown on Tidnum and the foreign lands.
It has blown on Gutium and the foreign lands.
It has blown on Anshan and the foreign lands.
It levelled Anshan like an evil wind blowing.
Famine has overtaken the evildoer;
those people shall submit.
May An not change the divine powers of heaven,
the sacred plans for governing the people with justice.
May An not change the decisions and judgments
that guide the people rightly.
That travel on the roads of the Land should be possible —
may An not change it.
May An and Enlil not change it.
May Enki and Ninmah not change it.
That the Tigris and Euphrates should again carry water —
may An not change it.
That rain should fall from the sky
and speckled barley cover the ground —
may An not change it.
That watercourses should carry water
and fields should hold grain —
may An not change it.
That the marshes should support fish and fowl —
may An not change it.
That old reeds and fresh reeds should grow in the reed-beds —
may An not change it.
May An and Enlil not change it.
May Enki and Ninmah not change it.
That orchards should bear syrup and grapes,
that the high plain should bear the macgurum tree,
that long life should flourish in the palace,
that the sea should bring forth every abundance —
may An not change it.
That the Land, from south to highland, should be populous —
may An not change it.
May An and Enlil not change it.
May Enki and Ninmah not change it.
That cities should be rebuilt,
that the people should be many,
that throughout the whole universe
the people should be cared for —
O Nanna, your kingship is sweet.
Return to your place.
May a good and abundant reign be long-lasting in Urim.
Let its people lie down in safe pastures.
Let them reproduce.
O humankind —
O princess overcome by lamentation and weeping —
O Nanna! O your city! O your house! O your people!
5th Kirugu
Colophon
Translated from the Sumerian by the New Tianmu Anglican Church (Good Works Translation), 2026. Source text: Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature (ETCSL), composite text c.2.2.3. The ETCSL English translation was consulted as a structural reference; this translation is independently derived from the Sumerian. The Lament for the Destruction of Sumer and Ur mourns the fall of the Third Dynasty of Ur to the Elamites and Amorites, ca. 2004 BCE. Ibbi-Suen, the last king of Ur III, was taken captive to Elam. The lament's theological structure — divine abandonment, cosmic storm, city-by-city desolation, and the consolation of Nanna's petition — is characteristic of the Sumerian city lament genre. This text is closely related to the companion Lament for Urim.
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Source Text: The Lament for the Destruction of Sumer and Ur (Sumerian ETCSL c.2.2.3)
The Lament for Sumer and Urim (Sumerian: di-ru-a ki-en-gi urim₅ ki-ma). Composite transliteration from the Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature (ETCSL c.2.2.3), University of Oxford, in ETCSL standard notation (subscript numbers represent cuneiform sign indexes):
1. ud cu bal ak-de₃ jic-hur ha-lam-e-de₃
2. ud-de₃ mar-uru₅-gin₇ tec₂-bi i₃-gu₇-e
3. me ki-en-gi-ra cu bal ak-de₃
4. bal sag₉-ga e₂-ba gi₄-gi₄-de₃
5. uru₂ gul-gul-lu-de₃ e₂ gul-gul-lu-de₃
6. tur₃ gul-gul-lu-de₃ amac tab-tab-be₂-de₃
7. gud-bi tur₃-bi-a nu-gub-bu-de₃
8. udu-bi amac-bi-a nu-dajal-e-de₃
9. id₂-bi a mun₄-na tum₃-u₃-de₃
10. gan₂-ne₂ zid-de₃ u₂hirin mu₂-mu₂-de₃
11. edin-e u₂a-nir mu₂-mu₂-de₃
12. ama dumu-ni-ir ki nu-kij₂-kij₂-de₃
13. ad-da a dam-ju₁₀ nu-di-de₃
14. dam tur ur₂-ra nu-hul₂-le-de₃
15. dumu tur du₁₀-ba nu-buluj₃-je₂₆-e-de₃
16. ummeda-e u₅-a nu-di-de₃
17. nam-lugal-la ki-tuc-bi kur₂-ru-de₃
18. ec-bar kij₂-e cu la₂-e-de₃
19. nam-lugal kalam-ma kar-kar-re-de₃
20. igi-bi ki car₂-ra ja₂-ja₂-de₃
21. inim dug₄-ga an den-lil₂-la₂-ta jic-hur ha-lam-e-de₃
22. ud an-ne₂ kur-kur-ra saj-ki ba-da-an-gid₂-da-ba
23. den-lil₂-le igi-ni ki kur₂-ra ba-an-jar-ra-a-ba
24. dnin-tu-re nij₂-dim₂-dim₂-ma-ni zag bi₂-in-tag-ga-a-ba
25. den-ki-ke₄ id₂idigna id₂buranun-na ac₂ bi₂-in-bal-a-ba
26. dutu har-ra-an kaskal-e nam ba-an-kud-da-a-ba
27. ki-en-gi-ra me-bi ha-lam-e-de₃ jic-hur-bi kur₂-ru-de₃
28. urim₅ki-ma me nam-lugal-la bal-bi su₃-su₃-ud-de₃
29. dumu nun-na e₂-kic-nu-jal₂-la-na cu pe-el-la₂ di-de₃
30. dnanna uj₃ u₈-gin₇ lu-a-na igi te-en-bi si-il-le-de₃
31. urim₅ki ec₃ nidba gal-gal-la nidba-bi kur₂-ru-de₃
32. uj₃-bi ki-tuc-ba nu-tuc-u₃-de₃ ki erim₂-e cum₂-mu-de₃
33. cimackiki elamki lu₂-kur₂-ra ki-tuc-bi tuc-u₃-de₃
34. sipad-bi e₂-gal-la ni₂-te-na lu₂-erim₂-e dab₅-be₂-de₃
35. di-bi₂-dsuen kur elamki-ma-ce₃ jic-bur₂-ra tum₂-u₃-de₃
36. ici za-buki gaba a-ab-ba-ka-ta zag an-ca₄-anki-na-ce₃
37. simmucen e₂-bi ba-ra-an-dal-a-gin₇ iri-ni-ce₃ nu-gur-re-de₃
38. id₂idigna id₂buranun-na gu₂-tab 2-a-ba u₂ hul mu₂-mu₂-de₃
39. kaskal-la jiri₃ nu-ja₂-ja₂-de₃ har-ra-an nu-kij₂-kij₂-de₃
40. uru₂ a₂-dam ki jar-jar-ra-ba du₆-du₆-ra cid-de₃
...
[Continues to line 519. Full text: etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/section2/c223.htm]
Source Colophon
Sumerian composite text reconstructed from multiple cuneiform manuscripts dating c. 2000–1700 BCE. This lament mourns the fall of the Third Dynasty of Ur (Ur III) to the Elamites and the Amorites, ca. 2004 BCE — the same event mourned in the companion text, the Lament for Urim. Ibbi-Suen, the last king of Ur III, was taken captive to Elam. Primary scholarly editions: Michalowski, Piotr, "The Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur" (Eisenbrauns, 1989); ETCSL composite text c.2.2.3.
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