Impatient Missing Poem by Uktamoy Khaldorova

A word sprung out from impatience
My angel, this echo flew ringing:
The thirsty angels blocking its road,
Drank water from its hands, sipping.
Till this echo would reach me, alas
The wind would confuse its head, fine.
The cunny angels enchant his mind,
The jiyda's flowers would offer wine.
Till finding its way in the desert,
The eyes of tender crops grew blue.
The buds of hope are running after it,
To pour of fragrance on its head too
Those bad days causing me suffering,
Have not paid the duty of missing.
The distance between us is but one step,
The divine word can't have reached me yet,

"My angel".