dsc-316:1 · narrativemedium
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ܝܐ ܒܰܪ ܩܳܠܶܗ
ܗܳܐ ܡܰܘܬܳܐ ܡܰܠܟܳܐ ܕܫܶܬܩܳܐ ܩܰܒܶܠ ܐܰܚ̈ܰܝ
ܕܡܰܠܺܝܢܳܝܗ̱ܝ ܐܰܬܪܶܗ ܐܺܝܠܳܠܬܳܐ ܕܰܦܣܰܩ ܣܰܒܪܳܐ
ܥܽܘܢܺܝܬܳܐ: ܠܳܟ ܫܽܘܒܚܳܐ ܪܰܒܳܐ ܕܰܢܚܶܬ ܨܶܝܕ ܬܰܚ̈ܬܳܝܶܐ
ܘܚܰܫ ܘܶܐܬܢܰܚܰܡ ܘܰܒܦܰܓܪܶܗ ܢܰܚܶܡ ܦܰܓܪ̈ܰܝܢ
ܕܒܳܟܶܝܢ ܚܢܰܢ ܐܰܝܟ ܫ̈ܢܰܝܳܐ ܒܬܰܪ̈ܥܶܝܗ̇ ܕܰܫܝܽܘܠ
ܫܡܰܥ ܐܰܝܠܶܝܢ ܐܶܡܰܪ ܡܰܘܬܳܐ ܟܰܕ ܟܐܳܐ ܒܰܢ
ܢܶܟܦܰܬ ܠܺܝ ܐܶܡܰܪ ܡܰܘܬܳܐ ܕܟܺܝܬܽܘܢܳܢܝ̱
ܦܰܠܓܳܗ̇ ܕܰܫܝܽܘܠ ܠܳܐ ܡܠܶܐ ܠܰܩ̈ܛܺܝܠܰܝܟܽܘܢ
ܫ̈ܠܰܕܶܐ ܓܶܝܪ ܢܽܘܟܪ̈ܳܝܳܬܳܐ ܟܫܶܝܢ ܒܰܫܝܽܘܠ
ܬܰܪ̈ܬܶܝܢ ܡ̈ܢܰܘܳܢ ܐܺܝܬ ܬܰܡܳܢ ܡܺܝ̈ܬܶܐ ܩ̈ܛܺܝܠܶܐ
ܚܠܳܦ ܕܶܐܩܒܽܘܠ ܕܥܶܠܒܬܽܘܢܳܢܝ̱ ܗܳܐ ܒܳܟܶܝܢ ܐܰܢ̱ܬܽܘܢ
ܫܚܰܩܬܽܘܢܳܝܗ̱ܝ ܬܰܪܥܳܗ̇ ܕܰܫܝܽܘܠ ܘܰܐܠܙܳܬܽܘܢܳܢܝ̱
܀܀܀
English
O son of his voice,
Behold, Death, the king of silence, receives the brothers.
His realm, filled with lamentation, has cut off hope.
A twisted thing: to you, great praise, that descended to hunt the lower ones,
And felt and grew hot, and in his body heated our bodies.
Those who weep, he shut in like bolts in the gates of Sheol.
“Hear those,” said Death, as he stood at the gate.
“They have bent to me,” said Death, “of your kindred.”
Half of Sheol is not filled with your slain.
For corpses are heaped in mounds in Sheol.
Two kinds of dead are there: the dead and the slain.
Instead of receiving your kindred, behold, they weep, your kindred.
Sheol’s gate has ground up your kindred and crushed your kindred.
dsc-316:2 · narrativehigh
Source
ܠܝܰܠܽܘܕܳܐ ܓܶܝܪ ܕܳܡܶܝܢ ܐܰܢ̱ܬܽܘܢ ܗܰܘ ܕܥܰܕ ܒܳܟܶܐ
ܓܚܶܟ ܠܶܗ ܬܽܘܒ ܐܰܝܟ ܕܳܐܦ ܐܰܢ̱ܬܽܘܢ ܥܰܠ ܡܺܝ̈ܬܰܝܟܽܘܢ
ܠܳܐ ܛܰܥܡܳܐ ܓܶܝܪ ܠܰܐܒ̈ܺܠܰܝܟܽܘܢ ܘܠܳܐ ܪܶܥܝܳܢܳܐ
ܠܓܽܘܚ̈ܟܰܝܟܽܘܢ ܠܚܰܣܺܝܠܰܐ ܗ̱ܘ ܓܶܝܪ ܕܳܡܶܝܢ ܐܰܢ̱ܬܽܘܢ ܠܺܝ
ܚܕܳܐ ܫܥܳܐ ܒܶܟܝܳܐ ܘܶܐܠܺܝܳܐ ܘܒܳܬܰܪ ܩܰܠܺܝܠ
ܐܳܦ ܫܳܥܝܳܐ ܘܙܰܠܺܝܠܽܘܬܳܐ ܐܰܝܟ ܕܰܛ̈ܠܳܝܶܐ
ܠܳܐ ܡܨܶܝܢ ܐܰܢ̱ܬܽܘܢ ܓܶܝܪ ܠܡܶܗܘܶܐ ܐ̱ܢܳܫܳܐ ܫܰܠܡ̈ܶܐ
ܕܠܳܐ ܒܳܟܝܳܐ ܐܳܦ ܠܳܐ ܓܽܘܚܟܳܐ ܐܰܝܟ ܛܥܡ̈ܢܐ
ܥܰܠ ܣܳܦܪ̈ܰܝܟܽܘܢ ܟܰܪܝܳܐ ܠܰܢ ܕܰܫܚܶܩܘ̱ ܐܶܢܽܘܢ
ܠܟܰܬܳܒ̈ܶܝܗ̇ ܕܰܐܠܳܗܽܘܬܳܐ ܕܰܠܟܽܘܢ ܢܶܩܪܽܘܢ
ܩܳܪ̈ܽܘܝܶܐ ܡܰܩܥܳܐ ܩܳܥܶܝܢ ܕܽܘ̈ܓܶܐ ܐܰܢ̱ܬܽܘܢ ܓܶܝܪ
ܗܺܝ ܩܥܳܬܳܐ ܡܦܺܝܣܳܐ ܥܠܰܝܟܽܘܢ ܕܥܶܪ̈ܕܶܐ ܐܰܢ̱ܬܽܘܢ
ܕܩܳܪܶܐ ܓܶܝܪ ܐܳܦ ܕܡܶܬܰܪܓܶܡ ܡܩܳܥܰܐ ܗ̱ܘ ܩܳܥܶܝܢ
ܐܶܕ̈ܢܰܝܟܽܘܢ ܟܰܝ ܝܰܩܺܝܪ̈ܳܢ ܐܰܘ ܠܶܒ̈ܰܝܟܽܘܢ
ܐܶܠܽܘ ܓܶܝܪ ܐܺܝܬ ܗ̱ܘܳܐ ܐܶܕܢܳܐ ܗ̱ܝ ܕܦܺܝܣܳܐ
ܠܡܶܫܡܰܥ ܩܰܠܺܝܠ ܙܳܕܶܩ ܗ̱ܘܳܐ ܘܣܰܓܺܝ ܠܡܶܥܒܰܕ
ܕܰܣܟܺܝܪܳܐ ܗ̱ܝ ܕܶܝܢ ܡܶܫܡܰܥܬܳܐ ܡܳܐ ܕܢܳܩܶܫ ܒܳܗ̇
ܗܰܘ ܩܳܠܳܐ ܥܛܰܦ ܠܶܗ ܨܶܝܕ ܗܰܘ ܕܰܡܫܰܕܰܪ ܠܶܗ
܀܀܀
English
For the hunter resembles you, that one who until now weeps,
He laughed again, as if also you laughed at your dead.
For there is no taste for your mourners, and no sense
For your mockers; for that hunter resembles you to me.
One hour of weeping and wailing, and after a little,
Also laughter and mockery, like children.
For you cannot be a complete mourner,
Without weeping and without mockery, like tastes.
Upon your scribes, a bitter woe, that they have forgotten their eyes,
The books of divinity that they have read to you.
The readers cry out, "The frogs croak," for you,
That cry is a placating cry over you, that you are frogs.
For he who reads and he who interprets, that one croaks.
Your ears, are they heavy, or your hearts?
For if there were an ear, that which is placated,
To hear a little, it would be fitting, and much to do,
For it is deaf, then, the hearing, when it strikes against it,
That voice turns aside towards the one who sent it.
dsc-316:3 · narrativemedium
Source
ܠܳܐ ܐܺܝܬ ܩܥܳܬܳܐ ܨܶܐܕܰܝ ܕܺܝܠܝ̱ ܠܰܘ ܕܽܘܓܳܐ ܐ̱ܢܳܐ
ܠܳܐ ܕܩܳܪܶܐ ܘܠܳܐ ܕܡܶܬܰܪܓܶܡ ܠܰܘ ܥܳܛܠܳܐ ܐ̱ܢܳܐ
ܗܰܘܦܳܐ ܕܡܶܢܶܗ ܦܩܰܕ ܠܺܝ ܕܰܐܳܠܗ ܩܽܘܫܬܳܐ
ܘܥܰܡ ܦܽܘܩܕܳܢܳܐ ܗܰܠܶܟ ܠܶܗ ܘܳܐܦ ܣܽܘܥܪܳܢܳܐ
ܠܰܝܬ ܠܘܳܬܝ̱ ܡܰܐܝܳܢܽܘܬܳܐ ܘܠܳܐ ܟܽܘܪ̈ܟܶܐ
ܣܳܒܰܪ ܐ̱ܢܳܐ ܕܳܐܦ ܠܳܐ ܓܶܐܪܳܐ ܡܨܶܐ ܩܳܕܶܡ ܠܺܝ
ܒܣܺܝܪܺܝܢ ܠܺܝ ܕܶܝܢ ܩ̈ܳܠܰܝܟܽܘܢ ܡܳܐ ܕܒܳܟܶܝܢ ܐܰܢ̱ܬܽܘܢ
ܥܰܠ ܩܰܒܪ̈ܶܐ ܕܥܰܢܺܝ̈ܕܰܝܟܽܘܢ ܒܰܦܣܳܩ ܣܰܒܪܳܐ
ܐܶܠܽܘ ܫܰܠܺܝܛ ܐܰܘ ܡܰܦܰܣ ܟܰܕ ܒܳܟܶܝܢ ܐܰܢ̱ܬܽܘܢ
ܢܳܦܶܩ ܗܘܺܝܬ ܕܰܠܟܽܘܢ ܐܶܬܶܠ ܥܰܠ ܐܰܦܰܝ̈ܟܽܘܢ
ܕܶܐܢܳܐ ܥܳܡܶܠ ܐ̱ܢܳܐ ܕܶܐܬܶܠ ܚܽܘܫܒܳܢ ܡܺܝ̈ܬܶܐ
ܘܰܡܕܰܘܕܶܝܢ ܠܺܝ ܩ̈ܳܠܰܝܟܽܘܢ ܕܰܐܛܥܶܐ ܚܽܘܫܒܳܢܝ̱
ܐܰܢ̱ܬܽܘܢ ܥܰܡ̈ܡܶܐ ܠܳܐ ܢܶܗܘܶܐ ܛܰܠܳܐ ܡܰܕܥܟܽܘܢ
ܐܰܝܟ ܗܰܘ ܥܰܡܳܐ ܕܠܳܐ ܪܰܒܳܐ ܗ̱ܘܳܐ ܡܬܽܘܡ ܣܽܘܟܳܠܶܗ
ܕܠܳܐ ܢܰܒܶܗ ܒܶܗ ܒܽܘܝܳܢܳܐ ܐܰܝܟ ܕܰܒܣܰܟܠܳܐ
ܚܶܫܽܘܟܳܐ ܗ̱ܝ ܓܶܝܪ ܡܰܚܫܰܒܬܶܗ ܡܶܢ ܦܽܘܪܫܳܢܳܐ
ܥܰܘ̈ܠܰܝܟܽܘܢ ܓܶܝܪ ܘܰܒ̈ܢܰܝܟܽܘܢ ܒܢܽܘܚܳܡܳܐ
ܗܶܢܽܘܢ ܢܳܦܩܺܝܢ ܩܰܕܡܳܝܰܬ ܐܰܝܟ ܪܺܝܫܺܝܬܳܐ
ܒܳܬܪܗܽܘܢ ܕܶܝܢ ܙܰܕܺܝ̈ܩܶܐ ܐܰܝܟ ܙܰܟ̈ܳܝܶܐ
܀܀܀
English
No cry of my hunt is there, not of the diver;
No caller and no interpreter, not of the idle.
The turn of his time commanded me to go to the truth,
And with the commandment he walked, and also the order.
There is no help for me, nor rolls;
I think that even a sword cannot come before me.
Your voices are broken for me when you weep
Over the graves of your dead, in the cutting off of hope.
If it were permitted or possible, when you weep
I would go out to give you over your faces.
I am a laboring diver, that I might bring thought of the dead,
And your voices lead me astray, that my thought might err.
You peoples, let not your mind be a lamb,
Like that people which was not great, the support of its thought,
That did not understand in it by trial, as in a fool.
For darkness is its thought from the separation.
For your wrongs and your evils in fever
First go out like a beginning;
After you, the righteous like victors.
dsc-316:4 · narrativemedium
Source
ܐ̱ܚܪ̈ܳܝܶܐ ܢܳܦܩܺܝܢ ܚܰܛ̈ܳܝܶܐ ܐܰܝܟ ܒܶܗܝ̈ܳܬܳܐ
ܐܳܦܶܢ ܓܶܝܪ ܒܰܪܦܳܦ ܥܰܝܢܳܐ ܚܰܝܶܝܢ ܐܶܠܳܐ
ܒܛܶܟܣܰܐ ܗ̱ܘ ܢܳܦܩܺܝܢ ܣܶܕܪ̈ܰܝܗܽܘܢ ܡܶܢܳܗ̇ ܕܰܫܝܽܘܠ
ܢܳܦܩܺܝܢ ܢܒܺܝ̈ܶܐ ܘܰܫ̈ܠܺܝܚܶܐ ܘܰܐܒܳܗ̈ܳܬܳܐ
ܒܳܬܪܗܽܘܢ ܒܶܐܣܟܺܝܡ ܐܶܣܟܺܝܡ ܐܰܝܟ ܦܽܘܩܕܳܢܳܐ
ܗܳܢܳܐ ܕܗܳܫܳܐ ܒܠܺܝܠܳܐܺܝܬ ܗܳܐ ܡܶܙܕܰܪܥܶܝܢ
ܒܛܶܟܣܳܐ ܪܰܒܳܐ ܡܶܬܦܢܶܝܢ ܐܰܝܟ ܙܳܪ̈ܥܽܘܢܶܐ
ܟܰܕ ܓܶܝܪ ܐ̱ܢܳܫ ܢܶܚܠܽܘܛ ܢܶܙܪܽܘܥ ܟܽܠ ܙܳܪ̈ܥܽܘܢܺܝܢ
ܐܰܝܢܳܐ ܕܒܳܟܰܪ ܡܶܢ ܚܰܒܪܶܗ ܠܚܰܒܪܶܗ ܩܕܳܡ
ܘܠܳܐ ܐܰܝܟ ܕܰܒܠܺܝܠ ܡܚܰܬܗܽܘܢ ܗܳܟܰܢ ܫܓܺܝܫ
ܡܰܣܩܗܽܘܢ ܡܶܢܳܗ̇ ܕܰܐܪܥܳܐ ܕܶܐܬܰܛܟܰܣ ܠܶܗ
ܗܳܐ ܗܘܺܝܬ ܐܶܢܳܐ ܠܽܘܩܒܰܠ ܢܰܦܫܝ̱ ܒܰܐܝܠܶܝܢ ܕܶܐܡܪܰܬ
ܕܟܰܣ̈ܝܳܬܳܐ ܕܠܳܐ ܐܰܕܪܶܟܬܽܘܢ ܡܶܢܝ̱ ܐܺܝܠܶܦܬܽܘܢ
ܚܠܳܦ ܕܶܡ̈ܥܶܐ ܕܠܳܐ ܝܽܘܬܪܳܢܳܐ ܕܰܠܘܳܬ ܩܰܒܪܳܐ
ܐܰܫܦܰܥܘ̱ ܐܶܢܶܝܢ ܒܰܨ̈ܠܰܘܳܬܳܐ ܒܓܰܘ ܥܺܕ̈ܳܬܳܐ
ܕܰܠܡܺܝ̈ܬܶܐ ܒܗܶܝܢ ܝܽܘܬܪܳܢܳܐ ܐܳܦ ܠܚ̈ܰܝܶܐ
ܠܳܐ ܬܶܒܟܽܘܢ ܒܶܟܝܳܐ ܕܰܡܥܺܝܩ ܡܺܝ̈ܬܶܐ ܘܚ̈ܰܝܶܐ
English
The last ones go out, the sinners like beasts. For he also goes out with the staff of life, but not. In order he goes out, their ranks from Sheol. The prophets and apostles and fathers go out. After them, in a schema, a schema, like a command. Now, of this hour, in the night, they are being sown. In a great order they are being gathered like seeds. For when he made haste, he mixed, he sowed all the seeds. Which one asked his companion before his companion? And not as in the night are their descents here disturbed. Their ascents from the earth which was ordered for him. Behold, I was a tree opposite myself in the things that were said. The hidden things which I did not attain, I learned from you. Instead of tears which are of no profit at the tomb, pour out prayers in the churches. For the dead in them there is profit, and also for the living. Do not weep a weeping that is deep for the dead and the living.
Citation. Tergwame, “Nisibis 62”, dsc-316:1, machine-draft, 2026. https://naxiai.com/christian/works/dsc-316#s1
Colophon. Source: syriac ·
licence: CC BY 4.0 ·
model: deepseek/deepseek-v4-flash:floor ·
provider: Relace ·
cost: $0.0029 ·
generated 2026-11-15.