A lament for strength twisted by tragedy. The hand, dark and unyielding, rises not as a symbol of victory but as a metaphor for the resilience that endures even in the heart of ruin. It is the strength to hold on when all has been lost, the strength that war exploits and corrupts, turning human endurance into fuel for destruction. The clenched grip speaks of defiance, of survival, but also of the sorrow that such strength is demanded at all. In its shadow burns the reminder that true power should build, not destroy; yet here it stands, a tragic monument to the beast that war awakens in us.
