Mosht-O-Mal Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Mosht-O-Mal

I have been ordered to
"Go to a chiropractor…"
I go but deep inside I hate it
How can I be a fan of mechanics?
I never feel happy with few metal parts
They make noise; travel to carry electrons
When going up and down they tickle my spine
Do not care for the hand of the girl who rubs some
No senses, feeling from cream to fool me and earn life…

Instead I miss my Mosht-O-Mal
If you are unaware what I say
Open your computer
Go Google
"The Bath of Ganjalikhan"
Then read of traditional bath massage…
Mosht-O-Mal.