My Lai Prayers Jan 2020 Breakfast of rice porridge was cookingon the wood stoves,people chattering,children laughing,mothers singing and cooking, and fathersready to work in the rice fields. Then American soldiersdescended on this village in a few hoursmethodically killedfive hundred four men, women, and children.Women and girls were raped. War came and went, one conqueror after another,the French, Americans, Chinese, butthe rice farmers’ life went on, immune tothe turns and twists of empires except on that day, March 16, 1968. Few soldiers showed remorse,“We were following orders.” said the soldiers.Few held to account for the murders,and eventually, all the soldiers were acquitted. What compelssoldiers to turninto soulless creaturesdevoid of humanity? Today, fifty-one years later I slowly walk through My Laimy eyes filled with tears. I walk along the paths with thefootprints of the men, women, and childrenfleeing in panic from the soldiers. My steps are a prayer and meditation.The sky is serenely blue.Songs of the birds fill the morning air.Are they the souls of the people killed?The profusion of pink and purple flowersand a hint of jasmine belies the tragedy. There is a large brass Buddhist bell.I toll this sonorous bell and light incense.I am empty and alone with my thoughts,and the memories of these people. I have no poetic or holy wordsto heal the insanity. There is only one wordthat roars back to me Why?