Happy is he whose heart is a perennial fountain of exhilaration,
who can trace a sunshine in a murky empyrean.
Happy is he who can create an oasis in a dreary desert of hopelessness,
who can bloom billion blossoms of brotherhood in the arid land of abomination.
Happy is he who can build a beautiful building out of the boulders thrown at him,
who has the power and patience to churn out elixir from venom.
Happy is he who sheds his ego for ever,
who is all embracing in nature irrespective of caste and colour.
Happy is he who transcends deadly desires,
who finds pleasure in giving everything without expectation.
Happy is he who searches happiness within,
who is never dampened by the thunderous storms of depression.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem