Everybody’s looking for Jack, Jacob, Yakov: A poem 

They want to feel his pulse, they want to know his goal 

They are playing soul, but he’s doing the rock and roll 

They are looking for him, to get him; but he is all too bold 

He is not young to plunge, but can never grow too old 

The streets are aflame, still trying to figure out his name 

He is humble as plain, but he is the grandmaster of the game 

Jack can be in every room, but never in any place at all 

He doesn’t cast long shadows, but he stands very tall 

He’s frail as cotton bale, but a whistler of a wrestler 

And in a silent whisper, he owes it all to `secret her’ 

With the voices of time sublime, better like vintage wine 

And if he calls on you, be sure it is for reason and rhyme 

Jack, Jacob, Yakov…history paves the path of destiny’s way 

And if you think he’s lost, he’s won for the price he did pay 

The horizon always seems distant, but the further is very near 

But Jack is so aloof, he leaves everyone in awe and fear