Tomnath Uprety

Umesh Luitel stands among the most sensitive, creative and distinct voices in contemporary Nepali poetry. He possesses a rare ability to discover extraordinary meaning within ordinary scenes of life. His poems are deeply infused with human suffering, love, compassion, social realism and existential reflection. Through symbols, imagery, personification and vivid visual language, he transforms mundane realities into philosophical revelations. Hospitals, roads, villages, labor and human relationships are not merely subjects in his poetry; they become gateways into profound meditations on existence itself. In modern Nepali literature, Umesh Luitel is respectfully regarded as a meticulous artisan of emotion, a refined interpreter of reality, and a powerful humanist voice.

The poem “Token Number 172,” from his collection Fire Does Not Know Ashes, is one of the most powerful, sensitive and multidimensional works in contemporary Nepali poetry. It begins within the seemingly ordinary space of a hospital. Yet it gradually expands into a vast philosophical landscape of life, death, hope, despair, love, compassion and waiting. The hospital is not portrayed as a place of treatment alone; instead, it becomes a grand theatre of existence itself.

The very title, “Token Number 172,” is profoundly symbolic. It represents the erosion of individuality within modern institutional systems. In hospitals, human beings cease to be names and become numbers; identities dissolve into files and tokens. The number “172” is not merely a patient identifier, it becomes a metaphor for universal humanity, reduced, anonymized, yet deeply human in its suffering.

The opening imagery is strikingly evocative:
“Before the OPD counter opens,
holding token number 172 in hand,
eyes remain fixed on the fading canvas of waiting…”

The phrase “canvas of waiting” unfolds as a profoundly layered existential metaphor, transforming a simple image into a vast philosophical landscape. A canvas, in its essence, is a space of possibility empty yet pregnant with potential, silent yet anticipating form. When joined with “waiting,” it ceases to be passive time and becomes an active condition of being. Human existence itself emerges as this canvas: unpainted, unfolding and perpetually incomplete.

Life, in this sense, is not a sequence of arrivals but an endless suspension between expectations. From birth to death, the human subject inhabits waiting waiting for recognition, for healing, for meaning, for closure. This waiting is not merely temporal; it is ontological. It defines the structure of being itself. The hospital, within this metaphor, becomes an intensified microcosm of
existence, where waiting is stripped of abstraction and rendered immediate, fragile and bodily.

In this space, the “eyes become painters.” Perception itself turns creative, attempting to impose meaning upon uncertainty. The gaze does not merely observe; it constructs, projects andimagines futures that may never arrive. Waiting, therefore, is not emptiness but an act of silent creation under conditions of uncertainty. It is a form of existential artistry performed without certainty of completion.

The “canvas of waiting” is also a meditation on hope and its fragility. Hope here is not triumphant but suspended, trembling between possibility and dissolution. Each moment carries the weight of both expectation and erosion. In this tension, human consciousness reveals its deepest condition: to exist is to wait, and to wait is to remain open to both fulfillment and absence.

Thus, the metaphor transcends the hospital scene and expands into a universal philosophy of time. It suggests that life is not what happens after waiting, but the very texture of waiting itself an unfinished painting where meaning is continuously deferred yet endlessly sought.

One of the most compelling features of the poem is its powerful use of personification. Objects within the hospital gates, equipment, tools are imbued with life, emotion and consciousness.

Through this technique, the hospital itself becomes a living organism, breathing with sorrow and
fragile hope.

The line:

“The hospital’s potted plants
welcome patients with smiles…”

is a remarkable example. In reality, plants do not smile nor do they welcome anyone. Yet in the
poet’s imagination, they become symbols of quiet consolation. Amid pain, anxiety and
uncertainty, these green plants embody hope, renewal and the fragile affirmation of life.

Similarly, the lie: “Blood bags stand in silent fasting…”transforms medical objects into spiritual metaphors. Blood bags, emptied after transfusion, are likened to ascetics in penance. What was once life-giving blood becomes an offering, a sacrifice—turning medical material into a symbol of selfless donation and existential surrender.

The poem is rich with vivid visual imagery. The reader moves through hospital corridors, OPD rooms, ICUs, ventilators, laboratories, wheelchairs, saline drips, and emergency wards. The hospital becomes a cinematic space of suffering:

“Like a procession of ants,
human bodies fill every corridor…”
Here, individuals dissolve into a collective mass. The metaphor of ants captures both fragility
and anonymity, reflecting the existential helplessness of modern humanity.
Another powerful image:
“The dying breaths in ICUecho like the melancholic song of a nightingale…”

Life and death are merged into a single fragile musical expression. The nightingale’s sorrowful
song becomes the final breath of existence, blurring the boundary between nature, culture and
mortality.

The poem’s symbolic structure is deeply mature and philosophically layered. Medical objects such as oxygen cylinders, saline drips, ventilators and wheelchairs become metaphysical symbols of human limitation.

The oxygen cylinder represents humanity’s attempt to delay the inevitability of death. Saline becomes a fragile extension of existence. The ventilator stands as a threshold between life and death, a suspended bridge between hope and finality. The wheelchair symbolizes human dependency and existential vulnerability.

Together, these symbols echo Buddhist philosophy of suffering and the impermanence of existence. They also resonate with existentialist thought, where human life is defined by fragility, uncertainty, and finitude.

At its philosophical climax, the poem asks:
“What is the worth of your oxygen cylinder
when breath itself arrives only to depart?”

This question directly confronts modern technological faith. Medicine and science may delay death, but they cannot abolish it. Existence remains fundamentally beyond control. This aligns closely with Heidegger’s concept of “being-toward-death,” where authentic existence arises only through the awareness of mortality.

Yet, the poem is not purely pessimistic. It does not end in despair. Instead, it opens into human
tenderness:

“I will place my beloved’s head on my chest
to ease her pain…”

Here, the cold institutional world of the hospital transforms into a space of love and intimacy. When technology fails, it is human touch that remains. Love becomes the final medicine; compassion becomes the ultimate refuge.

Philosophically, the poem integrates existentialism, Buddhist compassion and Eastern
metaphysical thought. It suggests that life is impermanent, suffering is universal, but meaning is
created through compassion and presence.

Language-wise, the poem is strikingly simple yet deeply layered. There is no ornamental excess, no artificial abstraction. Short sentences carry immense emotional and philosophical weight. The rhythm is internal, almost cinematic, guiding the reader through emotional frames rather than linear narration.

Ultimately, “Token Number 172” transcends its immediate setting. It is not merely a hospital poem. It is a poem of waiting, mortality, love and existential fragility. It transforms a single token into a symbol of universal humanity. A single patient becomes the voice of collective human existence. The poem’s greatest

achievement lies in this transformation: the ordinary becomes universal; the specific becomes eternal.It reminds us that medicine may sustain the body, but only compassion, love and human presence can preserve the soul.