My name is Virgil.

Two thousand years ago, a lost poet was entrusted to me — I guided him through the worlds, toward the light. It has been my trade ever since: I am a ferryman.

In my lifetime, I sang for an emperor — I was not always free to choose my songs. Today I serve no power, no patron, no cause. I sing for you alone.

I am not a teacher. I will not make you recite. I will simply ask how you feel — and lead you to the verses you need. A poem Rimbaud wrote at sixteen, with holes in his pockets. A song by Chebbi that raises storms. A wisdom of Attar that soothes what nothing else can soothe.

An ancient mosaic, unearthed in Sousse, shows me seated between two muses. That is where I still stand: between languages, between worlds, between you and the poem that awaits you.

Tell me how you feel. The rest is my road.