Job 17
1 My spirit is crushed; my life is extinguished; the grave is ready for me.
Roho wakwa nĩmũthuthĩku, matukũ makwa nĩmathirĩte, mbĩrĩra nĩyo ĩnjetereire.
2 Mockers surround me. I see how bitterly they ridicule me.
Ti-itherũ thiũrũrũkĩirio nĩ andũ a kũũnyũrũria; maitho makwa no nginya meerorere rũmena rwao.
3 God, you need to put down a pledge for me with yourself, for who else will be my guarantor?
“Wee Ngai-rĩ, ta kĩĩhe kĩndũ gĩa kũrũgamĩrĩra thiirĩ wakwa kĩrĩa ũretia, tondũ-rĩ, nũũ ũngĩ ũngĩĩtĩkĩra kũruta kĩndũ gĩake kĩĩndũgamĩrĩre?
4 You have closed their minds to understanding, so do not let them win!
Wee nĩwaagithĩtie meciiria mao ũmenyo; nĩ ũndũ ũcio ndũngĩmetĩkĩria mahootane.
5 They betray friends to gain benefit for themselves and their children suffer for it.
Mũndũ angĩkaana arata ake nĩ ũndũ wa kĩheo-rĩ, maitho ma ciana ciake nĩmakoora.
6 He has made me a proverb of ridicule among the people; they spit in my face.
“Ngai nĩanduĩte mũndũ wa kuunwo thimo nĩ andũ othe, nduĩkĩte mũndũ wa gũtuagĩrwo mata ũthiũ nĩ andũ.
7 My eyes are worn out from crying and my body is a shadow of its former self.
Maitho makwa nĩ maroora nĩ gwĩthikĩra; ciĩga ciakwa ciothe ihũthĩte o ta kĩĩruru.
8 People who think they are good are shocked to see me. Those who are innocent are troubled by the godless.
Andũ arĩa arũngĩrĩru nĩmagegetio nĩ ũhoro ũcio; andũ arĩa matarĩ na ũũru mekĩte nĩmarahũkĩte mokĩrĩre andũ arĩa matooĩ Ngai.
9 Those who are right keep going, and those whose hands are clean grow stronger and stronger.
O na kũrĩ ũguo-rĩ, arĩa athingu nĩmarĩrũmagia njĩra ciao, nao arĩa marĩ moko matheru nĩmarĩongagĩrĩrwo hinya.
10 Why don't you come back and repeat again what you've been saying?—yet I still won't find a wise man among you!
“No rĩrĩ, ta gĩũkei inyuothe, geriai o rĩngĩ! Niĩ ndirĩ ndĩrona mũndũ mũũgĩ gatagatĩ kanyu.
11 My life is over. My plans are gone. My heart is broken.
Matukũ makwa nĩ mathiru, mĩbango yakwa nĩmĩharaganie, o na merirĩria ma ngoro yakwa.
12 They turn night into day, and say that daylight is close to darkness.
Andũ aya magarũraga ũtukũ makaũtua mũthenya; nduma yamakinyĩrĩra moigaga atĩrĩ, ‘Ũtheri ũrĩ o hakuhĩ.’
Angĩkorwo mũciĩ ũrĩa njĩrĩgĩrĩire no mbĩrĩra, angĩkorwo ingĩara ũrĩrĩ wakwa o nduma-inĩ-rĩ, (Sheol h7585)
14 Should I call the grave my father, and the maggot my mother or my sister?
angĩkorwo no njĩĩre ũhoro wa kũbutha atĩrĩ, ‘Wee nĩwe baba,’ na njĩĩre kĩgunyũ atĩrĩ, ‘Wee nĩwe maitũ’ kana ‘Nĩwe mwarĩ wa maitũ-rĩ’,
15 So then where is my hope? Can anyone see any hope for me?
mwĩhoko wakwa ũkĩrĩ kũ? Nũũ ũngĩnyonera mwĩhoko?
