Ibn Battuta Poem by Dick Davis

Near the beginning of his first journey
The great traveller (who was to suffer
Shipwreck, the loss of all his wealth, his slaves
- On whom he doted - and his son; who was
to fight with pirates, brigands, be received
By princes as an equal and be laughed at
As a pauper; who was to see the known world
And its wonders) near the beginning
Of his first journey he tells us how
In company of a caravan of travellers
He approached a city, and how a crowd
Of well-wishers and relatives came out
To welcome them, so that each man was greeted
By a face he knew, except for him,
Ibn Battuta, whom no one greeted
Because he was a stranger there, and how
This knowledge was borne in on him, and how
He wept.
When the book is closed this picture
Of the young man in his twenties weeping
- And not the princes, slaves and shipwrecks -
Is what stays with you
so that you almost feel
Across the centuries the pressure of
Your hand against his arm, and hear
Your own voice raised in greeting.