Mothers were cooking rice porridge breakfast on the wood stoves, children laughing and singing, and fathers getting ready to work in the rice paddies. Then American soldiers descended on this village and in a few hours they executed 504 men, women, and children. The women and girls were raped. War came and went, one conqueror after another, the Chinese, French, Americans, but the rice farmers’ life was largely immune to the 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 compels soldiers to turn into soulless creatures devoid of humanity? Today, fifty-one years later I slowly walk through My Lai village my eyes filled with tears. I walk along the paths with the footprints of the men, women, and children fleeing 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 flowers and 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 words to heal the insanity. There is only one word that roars back to me Why? Namaya 2020- bio: Namaya is a poet and artist, a Vietnam era veteran, and a lifelong peace activist. www.namayaproductions.com