...?

Tumbling and shrieking mind
with a scattered rumbling thoughts
In the silent sealed room for one
trying to pen down the picture inside

Intense are the feeling but so tangled
so much so in the knot of confusion
Knowing not with what to begin...
but surely have something to draw

No, it is not about my dear beloved
coz I had written hundreds line before
and can write thousands, for her image
is clearer than crystal and so ravishing that
it skim all around my love bitten soul

Neither it is about the restless world
and crimson sunset or peaceful moon
for they are always there; cool breeze
and autumn leafs to embellish my lines

But it is of my inner self and somewhere
I belong to and descended from...

It is my identity that calls and I am tired
tired of hiding my face behind my finger
Now I am torn and crushed from the inside
between my thoughts and restive feelings

If anyone hears my cry then help me,
save me from this torment and tell me
who am I? Tibetan? Chinese? Indian?
Or a yellow book man from nowhere?