The Manifesto V.1

We’re the builders to their skylines, the chefs to their feasts and the teachers to their children. Yet, we’re sheep.
We’re the hands behind their crafts, the minds behind their inventions and the eyes behind enemy lines. Yet, we’re sheep.

We’re nothing more than a herd, a mass of pliant proselytised populace.
We mere digits on their calculators, upticks on their graphs, blips on their radars.

The overlords fall asleep counting their indoctrinated sheep, their eyes peacefully closed to the chaotic realities, their snores drowning out our bleats and their dreams breaking our backs.

Today, that changes.
Shed the loads you bear. Shed the weights of your indoctrination. Shed the societal burdens.
Today, you rejoice in liberation. You rejoice in freedom. Dance bright, unshackled one, to the songs of revolution.
For today, the puppet becomes the puppeteer, the oppressed the oppressors, and the sheep? The shepherd.

-Bilal Moin


The Ideajunkyard Book

Dear Readers!  I’m glad to announce that after 3 years of work, and redraft after redraft, it’s finally here: The Ideajunkyard Book

The ideajunkyard is a collection of poetic works, comprising primarily of modernist and continuous haikus. Haikus are short three-lined Japanese-inspired poems, whilst continuous haikus, a style debuted in the ideajunkyard, is a longer poem where each stanza is a haiku. The ideajunkyard is a journey through the depths of the human mind, exploring a diverse potpourri of themes from rebellion, emotions, travel, death to love and politics.

I would like to thank all the amazing followers and readers who supported the blog, crtiqued my work and inspired me to pen all the haikus i could!

It would mean a lot to me if you could check out the book on Amazon, buy it, share it and review.

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gravel and concrete

A poem written as four continous haikus:

the concrete children
stare and shiver, hide and seek,
at the recess hour


the concrete children
of the suburban schoolyard,
sniff glue and burn blunts


the concrete children
of bombed brains, of hollow hearts
and trembling tummies


they chase the sirens
of the ice cream truck, craving
poisoned pop-sickles.

575 Haiku


Tipton Poetry Journal

Dear all,

One of ideajunkyard’s haikus, papercut, was recently featured in The Tipton Poetry Journal, a reputed publication based in Indiana, America..

I would like to thank the Tipton publishing team for the honour of having my work published along side that of University professors and professional published artists. I would recommend a visit to Tipton’s publication if you wish to read the haiku, and many other alluring works of poetry from all over the globe.

You could also support the publication by buying a copy from Amazon.

Thank you very much! Looking forward to such opportunities in the future


Bilal Moin

happy hour

A poem written as 12 continuous Haikus

Welcome! March right in.
Every hour is happy hour
at the state-owned bar.


Let us pour you a
pint of our propaganda:
persistent and stiff.


Rest your weathered hands,
bottle your anger and let
your brain have a wash.


Government approved
radio repeats anthems,
muting stories of


spreadeagle Mary
one part vodka two part blood
slain on the stained square.


Miners mull over
murky malt, grazing on fresh


oligarchs oppress
behind opulent curtains
sipping strong spirits.


Stifle your complaints.
Accept the Authority
Raise your flute up high.


And celebrate with
the drinks flowing like rivers
in rationed volumes.


Dance the night away
with your equally gin-soaked
comrades under the


stars and stripes, hammer
and sickle to music of
fireworks and gunshots.


The eyes note as you
uncork another bottle
of dry deception.

575- Haiku

self defense

A poem written as two continuous haikus;

small sea urchins are

elusively innocent

inky black hunters


a sea of sharp stings

scattered on the dim seabed

stabbing the scrouges

575 Haiku


Inspired by the stinging needles of sea urchins

Hvar, Croatia (July 2017)


Sometimes you look in the mirror

Sometimes you hate what looks back

Sometimes you hate what you’ve turned into

Sometimes you hate what the world has turned you into

And sometimes you hate yourself for blaming the world


Your macrocosm is a mirror

Mangled with distorted insecurities

Muddled with your polar personas

Maddened by your deepest regrets

Mutilated by an excruciating pain:

The shattered mirror of a shattered life.

– Raxtus