I'm in search of a happy heart,
Having a sound sleep each night,
Even with a little possession,
Dares to stand on.
Is he happy,
With much wealth and property,
Yet devoid of peace,
As the ailing soul longs for ease?
Happy is he,
Who is never greedy,
Like the war-mongers,
And the evil-doers.
What else can bring joy to us,
Other than the smile on the face,
That a person does paint,
Lending a hand, being a saint?
Isn't the seed glad,
Sacrificing the shell, loved?
Giving is what happiness lies beneath, ever
If the former is the seed, outgrowth is the latter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem