Que scais-je?

I think to myself, Zafar
Even the day, it is night
'The night is also a sun'
A black sun, am I not right?

If this world is destined to pass
Then why so downcast, my soul?
Am I but a thing amongst things,
Or a silent desert, a gem in the ring?

The music that lies between the black and the white.
Or am I a note, far out of sight?
Now friend, don't tell a lie,
Did love grow old, in her old eye?

'Hush now, be gentle as the light,
She stayed a day, or was it a night?'

Tell me Zafar, if it is true
That I was once one, but now I am two?
Am I alone with the thief they call 'Time'
Or are there other rooms, in this heart of mine?

b.

Sebastian Mercier: ..." one lives with light and pleasure in spaces hitherto lost and really quite dark."

The natural light of the mind fills the quiet rooms until one does not know what is inner and what is outer. Do I have a 'clear and distinct idea' or is it only a memory of the person I was that I see before my mind's eye? The past lives on in other rooms. Is it the light within, or without, that fails?