Nin me schara - Langversion mit Übersetzung / with translation

Hier endlich die Langversion, Vers 1-33 Das Lied der Hohepriesterin En-hedu-Ana an die Göttin Inanna. Aus dem 23. Jhd. v. Chr.! (Sprache: Sumerisch, deutsche Übersetzung: Prof. Dr. Annette Zgoll, Göttingen) English translation by me (not really literally translated and please excuse my poor pharsing): Mistress of the uncountable ME (=Divine Mights), who brightly stepped out dynamic woman, carrying the brightness of terror, beloved by An and Urash, ruler of heaven, who has the great coronets of reign, who loves the mighty cron of Aga, which is important for being a High Priest, who has taken possession of ths Seven ME, my Mistress! You are the Keeper of the great ME, you elevated the ME, you held the ME in your hand. you collected the ME, you pressed the ME against your breast. Like a dragon you gave poison against the hostile land. Whenever you roared against a land like Ishkur (the weather-god), Ezinam (the grain-goddess) was not there (any more) for this (land), you deluge, who avanlanches against such a foreign land, the Outstanding, the Inana of these (the lands) art thou. You fire, ever relumed, crackling down to the land of Sumer, who was given the ME by An, Mistress who rides on beasts, who speaks the wrods of An, authorized by the fate-making words. Which of the great rites are yours -- who knows? Destroyer of the hostile lands, you gave power to the storm. Beloved by Enlil, you imposed fright on the land (of Sumer). You were available for the assignments of An. My mistress! All hostile lands bow to your roar! Whenever humankind horror-stricken and closemouthed has stepped towards you for the glint and beam of terror and storm, -- you had taken the most terrible of the ME for yourself -- then the sill of lament has been opened for you, then they run to you on the lane of the house of the great lament. Already before the battle all things had been torn away for you. My mistress! Your power -- it crushes every flintstone. You dart by like the storm darting by, you howl with the howling storm, you thunder with Ishkur, with the dreadful thunderstorm -- do you get weary by this? (No,) your foot never gets weary, so that they begin a lament-song with the harp of lament.